The Last Lantern

 The compass of the community has always been the  ocean. The stars and the dim light from lanterns burning in grange windows served as  nautical aids for  periods. There was one in every house, and each  honey said," We are  staying for you." Come home.    Time,  still, passed  sluggishly. 

After the cables buzzed and electricity came on, the lanterns were forgotten and stowed down in snuggeries , their glass darkened and their brass dulled. The light in the  vill increased, but in an oddly chilly way.   The only person still lighting her lantern was Mira, who lived at the cliffside gravestone  cabin. Each night, she struck the flint, lit the wick, and saw the  honey as it  bloomed against the fading light. Her neighbors considered her  fascinating. She was mocked by children who sang about" old magic."  

 Mira  simply beamed,  however." Indeed one light can change the darkness," was a  quotation she kept with her from her grandma.   She was  induced. She was  unfit to explain why,  however.   The  swells came raging one fall evening. With  swells tearing at the  reinforcement and  shadows suggesting black  cruises, the storm suddenly arose. An machine failed on a fishing boat amid the confusion. In the face of the  everlasting darkness, the crew  plodded against the ocean using only their  scullers.   And  also one of them noticed it. On the  precipice far down, a  jiggling  honey. An alive  honey.   hopeless stopgap roared in the men's hearts as they rowed toward it. The light remained constant, and they gradationally located the  creek as though it were being pulled by a string. Despite the ongoing storm, they made it to the seacoast.   Rain was pouring down Mira's cheeks as she stood there with her beacon in hand and her scarf tightly wrapped. Without saying anything, she simply held the light advanced, as though it were theirs as well as hers. 

  The word got out  presto. Outside her  cabin, the  vill gathered in the morning. The men who were  saved  pledged that one  honey was responsible for their survival. Mira was no longer a source of  horselaugh. Some indeed returned home and carried fine  lights back into the open to hunt through  garrets.   The  vill shone brightly after the storm passed that night. fluttering in windows were dozens of  dears that reflected like a  revivified constellation across the water. That season, there were no  misplaced  vessels. No  seaman made it back unscathed.   Every night, Mira continued to light her lantern. She witnessed  multitudinous  dears  rather of just one when she  gazed out from her  precipice. A whole  village recalls what it had nearly forgotten that light is for believing in as  important as seeing.   Accordingly, the custom was revived.   For  sometimes, the  smallest  honey serves as  further than just a  companion.  On  occasionally, it's the  launch of a fire. 

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