Yesterday’s Word Bohemia challenge…
The day after a storm, a really huge storm, is always light and bright. The paint on the lighthouse survived the storm, not a scratch on its bright white walls.
The lighthouse keeper rose early, refreshed after a good night’s sleep. The driving rain and gale winds had disappeared. The only remnant of the storm was a slight sea breeze, and the shards of timber that scattered the rocks below.
He dressed, and after a breakfast of kippers and toast, wandered down to the beach. Good. Silks. The crates would have protected them, and any where the saltwater had got in would still be usable by Mrs Price, the seamstress.
It wasn’t like the tea. No matter how tightly packed the leaves were, water always got in and ruined them. No. Silk would be worth selling at the market.
He scanned the horizon for debris; planks, metal rivets, corpses. But the sea twinkled benignly in the morning sun. Apart from the crates, the timber below could easily be taken for driftwood. No-one would have thought there had been a ship at all.