This story comes to us from Victoria who is entering the story contest in the high school category.   Victoria lives in Ann Arbor, Michigan. 


What is seductive about a Great lakes lighthouse overlooking one of the Great Lakes?  Is it the feeling of anticipation one gets, opening the doors of a car filled with children and watching them run to the water’s edge?  Perhaps it is in the inside view of a lighthouse’s cabin – the pegs on the wall to hold Mackintoshes and hats; the usually tiny stove, wood or gas; and, of course, the winding staircase to the tower.  The shores of the Lake surrounding the lighthouse could be filled with shiny, smooth and colorful rocks, waiting to be picked up and put on windowsills or used in doll houses as chairs and tables.  The shore might have a wildflower bank – yellows, purples, blues, running down to the waves.  The shore might be a long vision away – down the steep limestone cliffs hidden by the rhythmic beat of this inland ocean.

I always thought that stories held up the round walls of these Great Lakes lighthouses – stories of fogbanks, twenty-foot waves, shipwrecked boats, strange birds surfing, ghost ships seen on the horizon.  I always thought perhaps these Great lake lighthouses were painted mostly white to reflect the colors of the Lakes – the sunsets, the purples around the edge of the sand, the bands of turquoise in the bays, the deep vermillion by the rocky shores, and the orange-veined copper rocks.

Unlike the perpetually-moving saltwater oceans, the Great Lakes can sleep during the long winter, ready to prepare themselves for the onslaught of people and activities during a Great Lakes’ summertime.

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