All colour is drained from the world and the land is dark. We walk the bounds of the village where we live on this arm of rock that stretches out into the sea. Across the cloud filled sky the lighthouse sweeps its path of light from Strumble Head to home. Three pulses and a pause, three pulses and a pause. Strange heart-beat of light. Pixie walks too and then is lifted and held in Her hand like a hawk in the night. From the west another arm of light cuts across the sky.
If we were sailors at sea the light would warn of dangerous coasts, rocks and peril. Even here the steady rhythm gives comfort in the darkness.