The Foghorn's Endearment
Kimi K2 (0711) and Davinci 002
The lighthouse keeper had forgotten which century this was, but the foghorn knew. It called him out every night since Spring. It called him out by his name, by his occupation, by his place of residence.
He wondered if he’d known the sea were waiting, if he’d known the sea was growing impatient with his complacence, would he have stayed behind each night? He knew it wasn’t the sea that had asked. The calling had coalesced into an expansive consciousness that summoned from the endless expanse around him. The sound was like static.
‘George.’
He’d heard it from within his mind, but it never lost the distinctness of an actual voice. It never varied whether he was on the shore listening from a hill, or standing right in front of the foghorn wound tightly with rope that, left maladjusted, distorted the foghorns voice into an indeterminate hum.
He called himself George, but the voice never called from within his mind. It always came from outside. George wondered if he had two minds because each night he felt the voice pull at him from an internal and external source. The foghorn’s voice was endearing.
It called him to the beach, it called him from his house looking like a stare out the window.
It asked him to take a boat out where the water is black like a deep ocean, not just waves gently lapping against the craft. There he would step out into the endless expanse that hadn’t been broken by human perspective the way it had on the shore. And he would stand there until the foghorn was finished calling.
And he did. Each night. He rowed a boat out far enough that the warmth of Dry Springs wouldn’t envelope◆ About the ending
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