Light from a Distant Shore

This post refers back to my April 9 post. I have been in love with lighthouses since being read The Little Red Lighthouse and the Great Gray Bridge by H. H. Swift, as is common for many people of my generation. (This book contains most of the knowledge required to get through life without becoming bitter and isolated.) I have been to the top of every lighthouse on the Outer Banks, NC as well as the lighthouses at Barnegat and Cape May, NJ. I can no longer climb, but have visited nearly every lighthouse from Maine to Key West. Lighthouses represent to me a human endeavor that I consider quasi-sacred. People come together to plan and create something real, of "bricks and mortar", that says with an unequivocal beam of light, "Stay away from here, it's dangerous!", or "Almost there!", or "Good evening!", or "Right on course!", or "This way home!" So often, in real life, we have to create our own lighthouses to keep from becoming despondent while attempting to navigate a featureless ocean of time and distance. Frost's words "...and miles to go before I sleep" never provided any comfort for me, but at least I can see the shore. To the north.