He used to be the lighthouse keeper, a man. But he had lived there so long that the had forgotten who, or what he was. Before, he would have to walk up the 187 steps to the top, to check on the massive refractive surface of the mirror. Climbing the stairs used to exhaust him. But now, he would slide up the stairs like a cool summer breeze. Now he could turn that heavy mirror would turn by a simple of his shoulder muscle. Below, he loved tending tend the green hedge surrounding the base of the lighthouse. When the evening tide would come in washing over the base of the tower, he could now feel the water lapping his ankles. He used to wear these thick unwieldy bifocals, but now, he found that the bright metal reflector focused his vision better than his bifocals ever did. In his lungs he could feel every current of air that spiraled inside the tower, although his head would stuff-up depending on the humidity. He was no longer separated from that stone structure, he was the lighthouse.
Story: The Lighthouse keeper