The Edge of the Land

We walk until the earth refuses to go further. There is a specific gravity to the coastline, a pull that demands we stop and look at the water. It is not a place for answers. It is a place where the land ends and the vast, indifferent blue begins. We build towers to signal our presence, to say that we are here, that we have survived the night. Yet, the stone and the glass are small things against the tide. The salt air eats at the mortar. The wind shapes the grass into patterns of survival. We are only visitors to this edge. We stand for a moment, watching the horizon, waiting for a signal that never comes. Is it the tower that holds the light, or is it the darkness that gives the light its purpose? We leave our marks on the soil, but the sea remains, patient and hungry, waiting for the stone to return to sand.

Elizabeth Brown has captured this quiet endurance in her image titled Pigeon Point Light Station. It stands firm against the weight of the Pacific. Does the light still feel the warmth of the sun when the fog rolls in?