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 ...