after the storm

In those last moments before dusk the Sun pierced through the darkened thick cover, washing the Western cream-white walls of the lighthouse lemon yellow. A Binocularless Quartermaster leaning on the deck miles away along the horizon could pinpoint course settings by the yellow blaze. Bees straight-lined their way to the metal trough below the extinguished lighthouse flame, embedding their stingers to reupholster the hive after a whirlwind day. The Keeper, climbing the wooden steps from the storm cellar with lantern in one hand and Bible in the other, took a deep breath of pristine sea air. All of his red and pink fenced-in begonias were gone. He would start his garden over at Sunrise, he thought. Dandelions waiting out the storm kept their distance, humbly stretching forward for a closer look.

Lighthouse Dandelions
by Jamie Wyeth