↑ OPEN JOURNAL
January 3, 1953
i arrived at the keep today.
the wind was very sharp, but the light was steady, as it always is...
i looked around the keep, cleaned the lantern, checked the logs.
all in order.
nights are quiet, because all the gulls settle.
i am alone with the sea and the sound of waves crashing on the rocks.
first night here, all is well.
January 7, 1953
the fog rolled in thick this morning.
visibility low. the light will be of use.
spent hours on maintenance. i tightened the railings and polished the lens.
saw a lone gull circling near the cliffs, more persistent than usual.
they are noisy today, but harmless.
the lamp shines through the haze.
all as it should be.
January 18, 1953
inspection complete, again.
supplies in order.
oil will last another week or so.
the horizon is hauntingly empty.
sometimes i hear horns in the distance, but they quickly go away.
nights are cold, but reliant.
work keeps the mind occupied.
February 2, 1953
morning clouds heavy with rain.
i checked the keep top to bottom.
shutters hold, lantern perfectly doing its job.
cleaned windows despite the chill after the rain.
water on the roof is comforting, in a way.
still alone. no unusual sounds.
February 21, 1953
noticed small changes in the light this morning.
the lens needed minor adjustment.
the birds are still restless.
spent the day walking the perimeter, counting each stone, each board.
repetition keeps the hours sharp.
the wind whines in the tower, but all is accounted for.
March 14, 1953
the evening is calm.
the lamp is burning brightly
there are no ships in sight and no signals are being sent.
the wind is shifting a little from the east.
the sea is... restless, but predictable.
all is in order.
April 3, 1953
checked the lantern, polished brass fittings.
the horizon remains empty. it's starting to take a toll on me.
gulls are exceptionally quiet tonight.
i hear nothing but the waves and the creak of wood.
keep secure, oil sufficient.
all as expected.
April 27, 1953
saw an old shipwreck on the horizon today.
can't stop thinking about it.
lens caught its reflection faintly.
oil lasts, lamp steady.
still, the sight lingers.
May 19, 1953
memories surfaced this morning.
the shore, someone waiting.
i can almost hear them calling, but the wind takes it away.
lamp burns longer than necessary.
feels important.
June 11, 1953
fog heavier, light cutting through thick gray.
adjusted lens, polished brass again.
horizon feels restless.
i wonder if a ship ever truly sees this light.
July 2, 1953
strange noises in the tower tonight.
wood creaks differently.
lamp keeps burning.
count waves, count seconds between each pulse of light.
order matters.
August 6, 1953
horizon flickers.
could be phantom lights, or just reflection.
cannot tell.
signal anyway.
oil runs low but i keep going.
repetition keeps me from thinking too far.
September 1, 1953
solitude is getting to me.
i spoke to the keep today.
named the lantern, the stairwell, even the individual windows.
they respond in my head.
all must be in place.
nothing may fail.
September 28, 1953
i imagined ships today.
tiny silhouettes on the horizon.
i raised signals, but they did not answer.
does the lamp glow in vain?
while the gulls watch silently.
i'm getting used to their noise.
October 19, 1953
my memories growl.
the warmth of the shore, and the feeling of being wanted.
i keep writing letters on scraps, then throwing them into the wind.
they drift nowhere.
November 14, 1953
the light is everything.
without it, i cannot hold myself together.
the lens was polished, oil replenished, logs written meticulously.
order is life.
December 8, 1953
talked again to the tower.
walls seem to echo back my words.
shadows today move unusually.
perhaps wind, perhaps something else.
i signal to nothing.
still, it matters.
i am saving lives.
January 3, 1954
phantom lights on horizon again...
i insist with the signal.
nights feel endless here.
yet i barely sleep.
the lamp burns brighter than usual.
i should conserve oil.