Nighttime - At The Lighthouse of Alexandria.

I have always loved the mystery and romance of lighthouses.

So when they said, "Let's go sailing the ocean bleu, Alexandria's light will surely save us if we find ourselves in a bind.

The Lighthouse of Alexandria truly lends itself to grandeur and light. That ancient beacon is mystical - The way it bridges sea and sky, flame and stone.

🌒 “The Lighthouse and the Mirrorless Pilgrim”

Night...I arrive - not as a hero, but as a tourist of bad timing. The Lighthouse looms ahead, its flame sputtering like a bureaucrat’s promise. It's mirror, once the proud reflector of solar wisdom, now hangs uselessly at its side, catching only the moon’s indifference.

The sea mocks me with applause, each wave a sarcastic cheer for my foresight. “Bravo,” it seems to say, “for expecting a solar device to be of service at a nocturnal appointment.” The sailors nearby whisper that the lighthouse’s keeper retired centuries ago, replaced by a committee that meets quarterly to discuss illumination strategy.

I imagine that I would step onto the stone platform, expecting grandeur, but find pigeons holding a symposium on maritime ethics. Its as if the statue of Zeus is laughing from somewhere above the flame looking down, unimpressed, he too has seen too many influencers posing with ancient ruins.

My hands to the Heavens anyway - a gesture of stubborn optimism. It reflects nothing but my own silhouette, which appears to be laughing. Perhaps the lighthouse isn’t guiding ships anymore; perhaps it’s guiding fools like me, who mistake history for hospitality.

And so we sail on towards we know not what...the darkness looming. Onwards with hope in our hearts, illuminated only by irony.

The flame flickers once...as if winking, and I swear I hear it whisper across the waves...

“Next time...bring a flashlight.”

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