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The wind howled outside, a relentless beast clawing at the old lighthouse. Its wooden beams groaned in protest, but inside, Elara, the solitary keeper, remained calm. She sat by the fire, a worn poetry book resting on her lap. The lighthouse had been her home for years, perched on the jagged edge of the sea, a sentinel against chaos. Tonight, the tempest was fierce, the waves rising like walls of liquid steel, and Elara, ever the steadfast guardian, drew comfort from the familiar rhythm of words.
She ran her fingers over the faded lines of Viktoria Vidali’s poem, speaking them softly to the empty room. “For Beauty’s sake, we pull the old petals from a winter bouquet, to admire its red, orange, and auburn hues.” Her eyes wandered to the windowsill, where a bouquet of dried winter roses stood, their colors muted but still vibrant in the soft glow of the firelight. They had been a gift from a passing ship’s captain, a rare visitor to her isolated world. The flowers were a bridge to something beyond the confines of the lighthouse.
A Signal of Distress
A sudden crack of thunder shattered the moment, and Elara shot to her feet. She turned toward the window, her trained eyes scanning the tumultuous sea. Then she saw it: the faint, desperate flash of a distress signal cutting through the darkness. A fishing boat, lost and battered, was caught in the storm’s unforgiving grip.
Elara’s heart pounded, but she moved with purpose. She sent out an emergency call on the radio, her voice steady as she relayed the boat’s position. Outside, the storm raged, a symphony of turmoil, but she prepared the rescue equipment with practiced hands. She secured her oilskin coat and stepped into the gale, bracing herself against the force of the wind.
“For Beauty’s sake, we wipe away soot from the wood stove’s glass door,” she murmured to herself, “to wonder at the fire’s flames rising and falling illusively.” The lines came to her as she worked, a strange comfort in the maelstrom. Beauty, she thought, could be found even in the midst of destruction.
Safety’s Warm Embrace
With unwavering focus, Elara guided the fishermen toward the safety of the lighthouse. Her voice carried over the wind, shouting directions, urging them onward. The hours stretched interminably as the storm fought to reclaim them, but Elara would not yield. Her hands, raw and blistered, gripped the rescue line with unrelenting strength.
Finally, as the first light of dawn pierced the storm’s edge, the battered fishing boat limped into the harbor. The fishermen, exhausted but alive, disembarked, their faces etched with gratitude. Elara stood watching, her body weary but her spirit unbroken. She had faced the tempest and prevailed, not for glory but for the sacred duty of saving lives.
Back in the lighthouse, Elara replaced her soaked clothing and tended to her wounds. She glanced at the dried bouquet again and smiled. The words of the poem returned to her, weaving themselves into the quiet of the morning. “For Beauty’s sake, we set the gold ornament just right so it sparkles alongside the beaded garlands and silvery stars of our holiday tree.” With care, she lit the small Christmas tree that stood in the corner, its tiny lights cheering the somber overcast day.
Guests in the House
Later that afternoon, the fishermen, now guests in her sanctuary, brought food to share and together they joined in a modest feast. They exchanged stories of their harrowing ordeal and the small joys that kept them anchored. The lighthouse was uncommonly alive with laughter and companionship.
As the meal wound down, Elara stood and recited the poem’s final line, her voice steady but filled with emotion. “For Beauty’s sake, we gather together to become a harmonious presence, and to celebrate in fading shadows, the ever-returning Light.”
The fishermen listened as a quiet reverence settled over the room. The storm had taken much, but it had also given something precious – a reminder of the power of human connection and the enduring nature of hope.
For Beauty’s Sake
For Beauty’s sake we pull the old petals from a winter bouquet to admire its red, orange, and auburn hues.
For Beauty’s sake we wipe away soot from the wood stove's glass door to wonder at the fire's flames rising and falling illusively.
For Beauty’s sake we set the gold ornament just right so it sparkles alongside the beaded garlands and silvery stars of our holiday tree.
For Beauty’s sake we gather together to become a harmonious presence and to celebrate in fading shadows the ever-returning Light.
Let’s Have a Conversation:
Where do you find warmth in difficult times? Do you have a special sanctuary? Have you found a poem to recite when you feel down? What is it?
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