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The Beacon part 4

The young man was just putting away the last of his recovered belongings when the caretaker emerged from the bedroom. Determined to not be a burden the young man had already prepared the next meal from his supplies. It was early afternoon and dark clouds were already gathering to engulf the small island. At the first flash of lightning they began to count the seconds between the flash and the sound of thunder. This would let them know how many miles away the edge of the storm was. The second flash was a few seconds shorter between flash and crash. This one was coming in fast. The caretaker drops his spoon into the bowl with a splash and starts for the supply room . The young man catches him by the shoulder and motions towards the spiral staircase. The caretaker understands, the young man had already prepared the next round of oil in the lamp. They made their way to the top of the lighthouse and once more the beacon began it’s nightly battle with the darkness. They returned to the meal and stoked the fire. The little cottage had few creature comforts but the fireplace and generous supply of cordwood was one of them. It was while sitting by the fireplace that the caretaker noticed the small stack of personal items recovered from the wreckage. On top was an oilskin wrapped around a book. The caretaker gestured for the younger man to show him what was in the bundle. The young man handed him the oilskin and the caretaker removed a Bible. The leather cover was very worn and pages were falling out but it was all there. A certain look came over the caretaker’s face and a small tear formed in corner of one eye. The caretaker seemed to caress the book as he held it. Without lifting the cover he began to speak. It didn’t take long for the younger man to recognise that the caretaker was quoting scriptures verbatim in his own native tongue. After reciting a few passages the caretaker returned the sacred book to its oilskin and secured the closure. “It was my father’s book.” The young man said as he returned it to the small stack. “He was lost at sea when I was a child. It’s all I have left.” The caretaker placed a hand gently on the younger man shoulder as he spoke. After a few minutes of silence the caretaker motioned him to move back to the table and sit down. He disappeared into the back of the supply room and returned with a bottle of wine and a box. The caretaker pours each of them a proper glass of wine and opens the box. Inside was a chess board and pieces carved from shells gathered from the beach. They passed the evening with a few rounds of chess until it was time for the caretaker to focus on the maintaining the lamp and watching the rocks for the signs of ship in trouble.

The next morning the storm seemed to break early. The young man ventured into kitchen and greeted the caretaker. They had one more round of chess and the caretaker disappeared into the bedroom.

The Birth of Steam

digital art

Winter in West Virginia can be kinda tough for photography. Nothing much is in bloom. We get more rain than snow most years and it gets dark really early due to angle of the sun to the mountains. With the opportunities growing scarce I like to mix photos in with different shapes and backgrounds. This image is a composit of rain on glass, ink poured into plastic plate and a digital mist from one of the apps I’ve got. Color was changed and images twisted and remixed. The process was already making me think of a blacksmith heating steel, shaping it and folding it over and over again. Then that moment when he quenches the hot metal and the steam rises from his pail.

The Beacon part 3

Fiction Story, short stories, The Beacon

Before advancing the story I want to talk about the image. The base is is the lighthouse at Summerville Lake in West Virginia. The background is a manipulation of one of those surprises you find on your camera roll when you have accidentally hit the shutter button .

The storyline started out as a was of featuring the lighthouse images but has seemed to take on a life of its own. As fitting images and inspiration allow I will continue to advance the the story of the beacon.

On the following evening the storm came back with a vengeance. The old caretaker gestured for the younger man to help him carry a fresh supply of oil to the lamp at the top of the lighthouse. They each took a canister into a hand and began to climb the spiral staircase. In spite of his years the caretaker seemed to make the ascension with ease. The caretaker’s large hands kept a tight grip on the precious liquid during the climb. When they reach the top of the tower the first order of business is to fill the reservoir. The young man finished pouring his oil and paused to look out at the pitch black sea. The occasional flash of lightning revealed the angry sea below. He could see the broken hull of his one man vessel still hung up in rocks just beyond the beach. Judging by the number of oil canisters in the supply it could be months before he would be found. “At least I’m not alone.” He thought to himself as the caretaker pulled a striker from his vest pocket and lit the wick. The caretaker motioned him to move back down the stairs and he took one last look at his boat before descending back to the cottage. They entered the kitchen and soon the caretaker sat two more bowls of soup on the table. As they ate the younger man noticed that the caretaker’s bowl was only half full while his bowl was almost spilling out. There was sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach. While there was plenty of oil to last a certain number of nights the rocky island only held enough food for one person to last the same span of time. The caretaker was rationing himself and sacrificing for the benefit of his guest. If the boat wasn’t washed away by the latest storm the younger man would have find a way to retrieve any supplies from the hold. Why had the caretaker not tried to make him understand about the food supplies? He would have understood. Was it pride or a sense of duty? The young man stopped eating at a half bowl thinking he could save the other half for breakfast. This resulted in a stern look from the caretaker as well as a gesture to finish eating. The young man recognized only one word of what the caretaker spoke during the exchange. “Wasted”. It was clear that the caretaker was insulted by any refusal of food. “Pride it is then” the young man thought as he finished the soup and began to formulate a plan to get to his boat.
As he tried to sleep the young man’s mind mused about what it would take to reach the boat. He had noticed a damaged sail in the storeroom of the lighthouse. If he could find something to use as framework he could fashion the sail into a skin boat. Another problem would trying to communicate his plan to the caretaker. As he finally drifted off to sleep he decided to present a sketch of his plan to the caretaker first thing in the morning just before the caretaker would be ending the night shift.
The morning sun broke through the clouds and the young man sprang from the bed and headed to the top of the lighthouse. The caretaker was just putting out the lamp to conserve the oil when the younger person reached the top. Out of breath he handed the caretaker the sketches detailing the construction of the skin boat. The caretaker looked at plan and smiled. He stepped onto the balcony at the top of the lighthouse and pointed towards the beach. There in front of the young man’s eyes was his boat fully beached.
The young man rushed out to his boat. By some miracle the water had not entered the large hole near the bow. He managed to get in through the cabin window and even though everything was tossed about nothing seemed to be missing. He began to gather his possessions into blankets starting with the canned goods. By the time he made it back to the cottage the caretaker was taking his turn in the bed. The young man started stacking supplies and replenished the pantry. His journey would have been three months between ports. The pantry now held more than enough food for two men to eat well until the next supply drop.

The Beacon..part 2

digital art, Fiction Story, short stories, The Beacon

This is second render of the lighthouse. For this version I used the same lighthouse base image. I added rain drops from the windshield of my truck. I also wanted a brighter feeling to this one as if the storm was almost gone.

The younger person draws the blanket around himself like a robe. His hands are heavily calloused from the time spent at sea. His jet black hair hung coarse strands from being wet. The fire reflected in his dark eyes as he gazes at the flames. The shock of his experience weighs on his very soul. The old caretaker sets a thick earthenware mug of hot coffee on the table and slides it to him. There’s no need for words. They only understand a few words of each other’s languages anyway. They are brothers of the sea. As they communicate with the few words and gestures the dawn breaks and the storm retreats. The new day brings peace and with it new future.

The story above is an excerpt from one of the many stories that I have in progress. Inspection seems to come in spurts. I will add more to the story as time and inspiration allow.

The Beacon

digital art, Fiction Story, short stories, The Beacon, Uncategorized

Today I wanted to take a break from the black and white photos. This image is a composit of a lighthouse I photographed several years ago. It was my first excursion into photography with lens larger than 35 mm. I created the background and storm clouds by manipulating other photos in my archive.

I wanted to give you feeling of the powerful light driving back the darkness. Everyone at some point feels lost in the storm. We need a beacon of hope to bring us into shore. I can see the inside of the little cabin at the base of the lighthouse in my mind’s eye. A kindly old caretaker stokes a warm fire and offers a blanket to a young refugee who barely made it to shore. The younger person is soaked to the bone from the winter storm. As they sit together and enjoy a hardy meal the Atlantic Ocean rages outside. Waves crash against the stoney shore in vain as if Neptune himself was frustrated with the young person’s escape from the darkness. They are safe and secure within the refuge of the lighthouse.