They say on stormy nights you can see the ruined lighthouse burning still with ghostly flame, and a figure, running; though they never clearly say whether it runs toward or away.
A lighthouse is an iron promise.
A promise of safety.
Of steering you away from danger.
Of being able to make it to your destination, if you heed its warning.
And iron promises, unlike the works of Men, never crumble or fade away.
Never disappear.