The Harbour
The harbour is all rope-creak and gull-argument. Fishermen mend nets with their backs to the headland — all of them, you notice, every single back turned to the lighthouse, the way an office arranges itself away from a window with a view of the boss.
The lighthouse itself stands at the end of the headland, white and patient. No light yet. The sun is thinking about the horizon.
A weathered fingerpost points up a switchback trail: CLIFF PATH — LIGHTHOUSE. NO ACCESS. The "NO ACCESS" has been added later, in different paint, several times, with increasing emphasis.