The Yearning of the Lighthouse Fairies
by Brenda Blakey
Each evening while mortals slumber unknowingly in soft beds the lighthouse
fairies keep a vigil. They watch for the return of their loves long since
fallen in war and at sea. No more do they favor the widow’s walk; it remains
only as architectural gilding of an era barely remembered. Woodland nymphs
pull away the roots from their delicate ankles and adorn themselves with
iridescent green robes. While the water wenches have a salty soak and count
the rosary pearls. Adorned in their sea foam crinolines and dusted with
fool’s gold they convene at water’s edge just below the ancient lighthouse
climb.
Their solemn and hopeful prayer rises up as a beacon. With twinkling eyes
each remembers the feel of her lover’s embrace. Whispers of their longing
mingle with the spraying waves. They summon the lost loves to return if only
for one night, if only for one hour, if only for one kiss. All hold hands
and sing of pleasant times filled with laughs and loves and lusts. The
possible could occur at any moment. Eyes focus on the horizon while a
crescendo tensely builds. One says, “Hark, I hear the whale’s call, a
promise that the men are yet near.” Another weeps, “No, it’s but a song of
woe, only a sad lament.”
Waves rise, break and crash; optimism yields to hope soured, and then lost.
Tears are shed as they bicker among themselves. With their backs to the sea
they bellow toward the village as if someone might hear and ride to their
aid. A random sleeper may stir and, settling back into goose down, dream of
enchantment on a sparkling night. The sprites’ solemn moans, reminiscent of
fog horns, are wails of comfort and solace. Just before the moon salutes the
rising sun their night watch ends. The lighthouse fairies recede into rock
face brine and dank forest shadows ‘till next eve’s chance to begin anew.
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