Time and Tide

The tang of salt imbues the mist – a calling I cannot resist. I walk along the rocky shore held spellbound by the ocean’s roar. As darkness falls, the fog rolls in and, from the lighthouse, shapes begin to stalk within the opaque veils like illustrations of its tales. The cloying haze seems to transcend reality, here at land’s end. I see the ghosts of tortured souls, their names inscribed on filmy scrolls. There stands a lover who lost hope, there a traitor, wrapped in rope, a lost ship’s crew, still foundering and fighting off the storms of spring. Above it all, the lighthouse stands illuminating within bands of light this silent history of struggles with the mighty sea. A small breeze starts, a whispering, a dirge that only oceans sing, and soon the air is once more clear, though I can feel the ghosts still near. I sit upon the rocks and stare out to the sea and wonder where the lost souls seen now reside. They ebb and flow like time and tide.