Lighthouse under attack

The storm had been brewing all day and as dusk fell it came off the sea and struck land. It hurled the raging waters with full force against the rocky promontory, sending huge waves up the sides of the lighthouse that stood there, a lonely sentinel half way between land and sea.

The water swirling about its base frothed and raged and repeatedly slammed against the lighthouse’s sides, sending long foamy tentacles high into the air as though it sought to snuff the very eye of the lighthouse, the guiding beacon at its summit.

The roaring gale raged ceaselessly, smashing against the surrounding rocks and overrunning the coastal strip. Time after time it drove giant waves onto the land, engulfing everything in its path like a devouring pitiless behemoth.

As night fell the tempest showed no sign of abating. If anything, its fury was now even more terrible and its howling roar had grown deafening. In the midst of this raging maelstrom the lighthouse stood its ground whilst taking the full force of the storm.

Tall and proud the lighthouse stood, though battered by the storm.

No pounding wave nor beating wind could shake its firm resolve.

And there it stands as tall and proud as well it stood before its trial,

and bright its beacon burns to guide all ships that come in sight,

for proud the lighthouse stands, unbroken and defiant all the while.