Ninety-degree weather three days before Fall. As the young lady who brought my Walmart order to the Subaru told me, ‘It is too f—— hot.’ At first, I was surprised, but then I considered the gift of free speech. I agreed with her diagnosis. So it goes as we seek a more perfect union. On occasion, we are dramatic. It comes with the territory. The Woods were quiet this morning except for one old man with a long beard carrying a bucket. I wondered if he was collecting berries or acorns.

We would have been just back from Maine two years ago when Marcy and Brock joined us. We stayed in a haunted house and had a ghost call out hello to us. It was great fun. It was hot in Maine that September. On the Lighthouse Open House Day, we visited several. Lighthouses are intriguing. I wondered if the Lighthouse operator of years gone by watched us as a ghost. The spirit was watching the visitors. ‘Welcome the old man said to the visitors.’ ‘I have been waiting for your arrival,’ Old Salt said. ‘I have been shining the light here for nearly 200 years,’ Old Salt continued. ‘Many ships have been saved from running against the rocks on shore,’ OS noted. ‘I do not sleep much these days,’ Old Salt said. ‘There are so many risk takers, and I am only one man against the storm,’ OS mused. ‘There is a pervasive devil-may-care attitude of the last couple of generations,’ Old Salt advised. ‘100 years ago, the seafarers respected the Lighthouse and the Lighthouse Keeper,’ OS said. ‘They understood the Lighthouse was there for their protection,’ Old Salt proclaimed as he puffed his pipe. ‘Now anything goes with people allowing their kids to play on the jagged rocks on shore, seemingly unaware of the danger,’ Old Salt noted sorrowfully. ‘The other day a child fell between the stones and died while onlookers kept dancing across them as if they were invincible,’ OS whispered. ‘The Lighthouse has lost its

meaning and the living are the worse for it,’ Old Salt commiserated as a tear coursed down his cheek.

‘Where do you stay in the Lighthouse?’ Brock asked. ‘I see a cot in the corner that looks unused. ‘As we walked the large rocks on the shore, I heard the sound of someone calling danger,’ Brock said. ‘Jay thought it was the wind howling, but the wind does not utter words,’ Brock said. ‘I glimpsed a sailor with his cap and pipe on the rocks, but he disappeared in the fog,’ Brock noted. ‘He looked like you,’ Brock said with a grin.

‘I walk the boulders daily and often all night, ‘Old Salt said. ‘There have been many ships run aground,’ Old Salt continued. ‘The sailors and their families are engrossed with debating who is right and who is wrong, who is holy and who is demonic,’ Old Salt said. ‘They are so involved in the politics of the moment that they do not see the jagged rocks nor hear me crying danger,’ Old Salt beamoaned. ‘When they see the Light or hear me scream the dangerous warning, they prefer their conspiracy theories and bias and prejudice which they accept as reality,’ Old Salt said with a bowed head. ‘One boat’s crew laughs while another runs aground and attests that it was good enough for the unbelievers,’ OS noted. ‘Often a boat will, in turn, run aground while they are taking joy in their perceived enemies’ destruction.

Old Salt is still watching. We fight for a place at the table when we are not hungry. We want everyone to be like us when we often do not like them. Leaders crave praise and pagentry. See me, love me, worship me, they say. If you disagree with the Emperor, whisper it in a dark corner. Let no one know the rocky shore is ahead. In the game of musical chairs, do not lose your seat…