Creatures of habit

DSCN5602 (2)

There was an old lighthouse keeper, who lived by himself for many, many years.  Just the man and his tower of light and the sea. Every morning at precisely 6am, the fog horn would sound…a long, low, sad blast; it didn’t matter whether the lighthouse was bathed in the deepest fog, or being battered by the winds and waves stirred by a hurricane, or if it was the perfect summer morning blessed by bright sunshine and a warm breeze, the fog horn sounded. Every morning.

Continue reading “Creatures of habit”