You wander among ancient oaks and spy it amid twisted branches.
Long before there was a lighthouse a watch tower stood there to guard against Drake. He came anyway.
Drake is gone, and the Spanish sentries.
The lighthouse stands sentinel still.
Watching over tourists now.
Keeping it aglow was never a walk in the park.
And you are never quite certain if you are going up the down staircase….
Or down the up staircase.
You pause on the ascent. If only to contemplate the larger world beyond its thick portals.
The destination always being the point of the journey.
On a clear day.
You can see forever.
Until prospective challenges reality itself.
There being infinite ways to contemplate life, the universe and everything.
The lion and the lighthouse never sleep.