OKAY…THANKS

By John Thomas Tuft

The stiff breeze off the sea ruffled his hair as he approached the outcropping of rock and restless sands. Sticking far out into the entrance to the sound, it was the perfect spot for a light house. Whitewashed walls reaching toward the sky, heavy wooden beams framing the doorway at the bottom, small windows set in a gentle reach toward the glass enclosure sitting atop the weather-beaten warrior. He paused at the flag stone…