Have you ever stood underneath a lighthouse in the inky black of night?
I was down in the Low Head grassland to one side of the lighthouse. My torch covered in red cellophane let out a dull restrained light so as not to blind the penguins I was on a hunt to find. Dodging my way through thorny bushes, my mind focused intently on the mission. Having diligently waited until dusk I was determined to spot some of these curious creatures foraging in their natural habitat.
It is a miracle we found three, given the constant chatter and thumping coming from my children that were too excited to heed instructions. Chilled from the cold and elated with the semi success of our walk, we headed back up the hill towards our lighthouse cottage. I had honestly been so busy making sure none of us lost our footing in a burrow, it was not until I was right under the lighthouse that I took a moment to look around.
The sky was inky black with a fingernail moon resting near the horizon. The Milky Way sprayed luminously across the sky. Three rays of light shot out from the lighthouse, catching the moisture in the air, the light looked like long cylinders. Spinning slowly around my head, the beams licked the edge of the cottage and hill before slicing through the night into the black ocean. With nothing to illuminate but darkness, the three light sabers disappeared to nothing. I must have stayed and watched at least 10 rotations. What held me the longest was the silence. The light was quiet, seamless, steady and thick. Staring upwards, the full strength of the reflections was obscured, yet for a ship, 43 kilometres away it was a welcomed warning beacon.
It was one of the most magical moments of my life.
Until next time