The Lantern Zia Built — Every evening at Gullstep Cove, Zia gathered driftwood curls, shell chips, and bits of twine while the lighthouse lens clicked above the rocks. Read the full story →
Every evening at Gullstep Cove, Zia gathered driftwood curls, shell chips, and bits of twine while the lighthouse lens clicked above the rocks. She had set herself a challenge: build a lantern small enough to fit in her rowboat, bright enough to wink back at the tower. The salt air smelled like wet stone, and her fingers grew sticky with pine sap as she tied, untied, and tied again.
Until one day, a bank of fog rolled in before sunset and swallowed the keeper’s path to the boathouse. Because of that, the keeper could not reach the spare oil for the tower. Because of that, the great light blinked once, twice, then stayed dim while waves hissed over the stones. Zia cupped her little lantern, its shell windows glowing amber. “I made this,” she whispered, surprised by the steadiness in her own voice.
She set it in the rowboat, and the small glow shone low across the cove, showing the keeper each slick rock. At last the tower blazed again, huge and golden, but Zia kept watching the tiny lantern she had built with her own hands. Next time you see the rowboat by the shore, see if you can find where one small light first answered the tower.
