The Twilight Keeper
Old Marcus had been the lighthouse keeper for forty-three years, and in all that time, he'd never understood why the beacon drew souls to shore during their final moments. Tonight, as storm clouds gathered and the first winter snow began to fall, he watched a young woman climb the rocky path to his tower, her face etched with the particular exhaustion that comes from a life lived too hard, too fast. She'd come seeking the lighthouse's famous view"βthe place where people said you could see your whole life spread out like the ocean below. As she stood at the observation deck's edge, Marcus saw her shoulders shake with what he first thought was cold, then realized was the kind of deep, cleansing laughter that comes when someone finally understands the cosmic joke of existence. But as her laughter faded into the salt-tinged air, something else took its place"βa smile so soft and knowing that it seemed to catch the last golden rays of sunset and hold them steady against the approaching darkness. In that moment, Marcus finally understood: if her laughter had been the soul's celebration of all its bright and reckless days, then this gentle smile was its peaceful acknowledgment that even the most beautiful light must eventually yield to rest, and that there was grace to be found in that surrender too.