“Of a Hawk and a Lighthouse” by Amy Clare Fontaine

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You’re listening to The Voice of Dog.

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I’m Khaki, your faithful fireside companion,

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and today’s story is

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“Of a Hawk and a Lighthouse”

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by Amy Clare Fontaine,

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who is a wildlife biologist and a prolific author of furry fiction.

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Her books include the young adult fantasy Mist

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by Thurston Howl Publications

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and the anthropomorphic hyena novelette

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Beyond Acacia Ridge

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by Goal Publications.

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You can find more of her writings

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on www.amyclarefontaine.com.

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“Of a Hawk and a Lighthouse”

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by Amy Clare Fontaine

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The lighthouse stood barren on the craggy cliffs.

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The morning mist rolled in,

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like fingers of smoke from some primordial fire across the sea,

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creeping up the rocks to where the lighthouse stood empty

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and alone. This gray fabric covered the sky,

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enveloping the sunrise like a jealous lover.

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Swallowing it until the lighthouse stood in premature darkness reflective of her mood.

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The once-joyful red and white stripes of paint on the lighthouse had been peeled away by winds and waves,

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time and sadness.

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The wooden door was chipped and scarred,

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the windows of the lantern room stained with gull droppings.

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Night fell, and the gasping stars struggled to breathe despite the mist that choked their sky.

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But the lighthouse never cast her glow upon the dark and restless waters.

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Unlike the stars,

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she had lost all hope.

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She knew no one was coming. #

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The red-tailed hawk had soared above the world all his life.

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He saw so much more than people see.

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From a half-mile above the ground,

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he saw a mouse giving birth in the long grass.

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He saw the fleas on the hairs on the back of a squirrel as it ran down a tree trunk

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on a mountain far below.

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He saw people clamoring and fighting and loving in their cities;

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he recognized their millions of individual faces.

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But in all his travels,

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the red-tailed hawk

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had never found a home.

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He wasn’t sure what kept him from settling down:

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courting a mate, building a nest, raising some chicks and folding up his wings.

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But something propelled him ever onward

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—his heart was as restless as his wild, mewling scream

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as he plunged along air currents toward who-knows-where.

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Eventually, he found the lighthouse on the craggy cliffs overlooking a beach.

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The fog had not yet swallowed the sunset,

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and a yellow-orange brilliance lay watery over everything.

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In that brilliance,

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the hawk saw the lighthouse.

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In that moment, he knew.

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He flew through the open, scarred door,

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over the aged wooden staircase, and up to the lantern room

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with its stained windows.

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He perched there and watched

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as the sun went down and the night’s mist enfolded the world.

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From the base of the platform from whence light once came,

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the hawk looked out to sea.

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And in the darkness of that despondent lighthouse,

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in the blue-gray-black ocean world he saw outside,

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in this cavern of emptiness

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the hawk glimpsed

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eternity. Inside her,

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everything would be alright.

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Delighted with her feathery company, so pleased that someone lived inside her again,

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ecstatic that she was loved

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even in her tired old age,

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the lighthouse cast a beam of light

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onto the water. # The hawk and the lighthouse

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lived happily for several days.

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There was enough vegetation in her many crevices to sustain a steady supply of mice and rats,

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on which the hawk eagerly fed.

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But he flew up to the lantern room for every sunrise and sunset,

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and he and the lighthouse watched the world grow old together.

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The world was no longer full of darkness for the lighthouse.

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She sparkled like a new bride,

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sending her light out over the ocean each night.

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She believed in herself again,

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thought that maybe someday,

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she would lead someone home.

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And the hawk, for his part,

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felt no need to wander.

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At least, he didn’t at first.

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But one sunset, as the hawk sat on the platform,

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he heard a shrieking cry.

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Over the ocean flapped another hawk,

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the feathers of her tail glowing red against the yellow sky.

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She stared through a window at the hawk.

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He stared back. In that moment,

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he knew. The male flew out of the lighthouse.

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The lighthouse watched

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as he and the female cavorted over the sparkling,

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orange-and-yellow sea,

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twirling around each other,

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and then flew back towards land together.

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Night fell. Rain came.

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No one entered the lighthouse.

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The lighthouse stood

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on her craggy cliffs:

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shivering, waiting.

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She sent her light into the darkness

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and prayed. # The next morning, the sun rose.

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The lighthouse stood empty and alone.

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But not really. Not anymore.

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As dawn’s light bathed her lantern room, she realized the wonderful truth:

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no matter how empty she felt, no matter how her skies darkened,

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sunlight would always return.

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Somewhere in the world,

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birds were soaring.

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Though the hawk had left the lighthouse,

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she felt brighter because she had known him.

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Love still existed,

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out there in the deep blue.

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The lighthouse didn’t need to see her feathered friend to know this.

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She felt it down deep in her weathered wooden bones.

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She had been built

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to bring light to others.

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So she would continue to try.

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It was precisely when the skies seemed darkest

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that the world needed her most of all.

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When night fell again,

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she cast her beam onto the water.

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She wasn’t sure anyone would see it.

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But she was fulfilling her purpose, and that knowledge inspired her.

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She burst forth with light, reflecting the love she had known.

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Her brilliance pierced the mist

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and made the stars shout for joy. #

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The next day, the red-tailed hawks flew through the open, scarred door,

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over the aged wooden staircase,

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and up to the lantern room,

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carrying talonfuls of twigs and bark.

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In the depression below the dusty lighthouse lamp,

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they placed the twigs carefully,

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forming a circular structure

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which they lined with the bark.

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And they stayed there together to watch

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the sunset and sunrise out the stained lighthouse windows.

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The lighthouse was old.

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She knew the wandering ways of living things.

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When the eggs laid by the female hatched, the lighthouse knew

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the chicks would grow up.

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She knew that eventually,

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the hawks would grow restless

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and fly away from her, as every life had before.

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But in the meantime,

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she had a family to share every sunrise and sunset,

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to keep her company through the stormy nights.

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And the lighthouse was happy.

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This was “Of a Hawk and a Lighthouse” by Amy Clare Fontaine,

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read for you by Khaki,

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your faithful fireside companion.

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Thank you for listening

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to The Voice of Dog