keeper · 61 · the cape, north light
square-built, grey-bearded, a man whom weather has shaped without weakening. his hands stay warm in cold rooms. he stands with his weight slightly on the back foot, as if the floor were always tilting just enough to notice.
technically the light is automatic now and he is not, technically, employed. nobody has told him this and he has not asked. he climbs the stair at dusk, lights the lamp by hand though it does not need lighting, and writes the date and the sea-state in the log as he has every evening for thirty-one years. the lamp would burn anyway. it does not seem to mind the help.
once a year, on the longest night, he turns the lamp off for exactly one minute. the ferries have come to expect it. they do not log it; they understand it is a private observance.
field note · he is on speaking terms with one particular gull. they do not pretend it is the same gull every year. they both know it is not.