Lights in the night

I haven't mentioned 2020 despite it being a singularly needy sort of year. These are the sorts of times when you do reflect on life, whether you wish to or not.

Ironically I have managed to be published in an anthology with the theme of lighthouses. So all of the sentinel's metaphors of loneliness, sacrifice, endurance and introspection are entirely appropriate for the times. But my story is about love.

You could argue that there are weightier matters in the world to consider beside tales of whimsy or love, and you would be right. But we do not toil unslumbering through the rotations of our small planet, nor do we lie undreaming through its nights. Stories feed our minds and souls.

​There have been a lot of anthologies this year, just in my small patch of world. A short story is the perfect thing to read. Long enough to unplug the world's noise, but short enough to justify a claim on our limited time. So, book, tea, reading. What could be more perfect in our imperfect world?

(Thank you Unslash phtotgrapher Garrick Sangil.)

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