Lighthouses have always held a magical fascination for me. A lonely, firm post on a rugged shore, they send their lights out to the souls on the dark oceans. Their beacon of bright light can be seen as a sign of hope or just as a light source that shortly brightens the darkness - here it comes, there it goes, and here is comes again.
When I was a child of six and seven years old, my family spent the summer vacation in Denmark, in a small summerhouse amidst the dunes in Jutland. The sandy beaches were incredibly wide and seemed to be endless. One of my fondest memories is walking along the beach with my parents and older brother at twilight and seeing Rubjerg Knude lighthouse further up the coast, sending its white beacon across the North Sea, again and again in its steady rhythm. I felt the comfort of my family and since then I've always associated lighthouses with safety - not only for the ships out on the oceans of the world, but a safe haven for my emotions as well.
Of course there is also the solitude of a lighthouse, its tall lone standing. I have often dreamed about what it would be like to live in a lighthouse. I imagined a big light room with white washed walls. A desk would be in front of a window from which I could see the open sea and just a little bit of shoreline. A vase with yellow and orange flowers would sit on the desk. Here I would sit and write novels all day and live my solitary writer's life. So romantic.
Dreams... my life has turned out very differently. But I live close to one of the most beautiful coastlines that gives many lighthouses a home - places you can visit and learn about lighthouse keepers and horrendous ship accidents. Seeing those lighthouses still give me that feeling of having reached a safe haven - where my dreams continue to live and delight me.
(first written for Vision and Verb almost exactly 15 years ago)
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