Until They Return I awaken when the sky turns from muted blues to dark shades of graphite. That’s when I begin to breathe. My chest resonates with a vibration, my eyes watch for those coming from afar, and my light reaches out. Even now—after all this time—I still light the sea. No one tells me to; they haven’t for years. The birds have retreated. My keeper’s voice left with the ocean tide. But his words still resound, saying, “Don’t ever stop shine’n, you hear me, yur never know who might need ya.” I could hear those words as he tightened up my bolts and shined my glass. So, I do. Night after night, my light dances over the waves. I search for the searching souls—the sailors—the ships lost at sea. I don’t know if they ever pass by, maybe my eyes aren’t as good as they used to be, but if they do—I want them to find their way home. Tonight, the wind arrived a little angrier than usual. The wind whips and smacks against my body. I anchor myself into the stone and memories, fighting against the whiplash. I’ve weathered many storms, hundreds, and maybe thousands—this one somehow feels different, more agitated. The wind bashes harder against my exterior, ripping off pieces of paint, testing my ability to do my job in this world. The black rain washes over me with intensity, testing even my interiors to hold on for dear life. All I ever wanted was to provide some light to the world, to be a healing source or refuge for those who had been out in the void for much too long, those unforgiving dark graphite skies that bled one into another. And then—a flicker in the distance. So small it could be called a mirage. A ship, in the distance, closer it comes, I shine my light like a starving man searching for a morsel—his last morsel before meeting his maker. I tell myself:Remember who you are, remember how you shine. With every inch of fury, I push through the vortex of the storm, the cold and bitter saltwater covering my foundation, rocky and strong, but chipping away from lack of upkeep and purpose. It is harder this time around; lack of care and assignment hampers my nourishment, my willingness grows weaker, but my purpose is still the same. The ship inches up near me; I can feel its warm glow even in the night skies. Like a familiar touch from a lover, a warm blanket after snow. I am meant to save this ship, lead it to safety, but somehow it is the opposite feeling. This ship—will save me.It stops mid-waters, finding solace in my light and my presence, allowing the storm to die down. But as quickly as it was here, it is as quickly as it is gone. It wasn’t meant to stay forever but to simply remind me of who I am.I am the safety of the storm, the blanket in the snow. I am my brother’s keeper.I am the lighthouse.