Outside, I hear the winds of change press ever forward. With each waft, the drafts whisper alluringly as they swell the sails of progress. Unabated is the sweep of transformation, for time is a cold, forward-looking reformist.
As I listen, I look out to remind myself that time is not the keeper of influence over all things. Just beyond the lighthouse is the deep blue sea – and it does not change its ways. Be it docile and sparkling like diamonds or riled and white with foam, the deep does what the deep does.
I then look up into a prism realm that hearkens back to a classical epoch when enlightenment and artistry were unabridged. Here, time tepidly treads. And though sources of light have come and gone within its polished embrace, such innovations have conformed to parameters set down two centuries ago.
The Fresnel lens – a guiding light amidst the darkness, and the ancient sea, upon which the beacon’s rays traverse, yet abide in a fashion long since set forth. Around me, steadfastness shines, for time holds no sway over their wondrous ways.
Beautiful!