Artwork for podcast The Voice of Dog
“Of a Hawk and a Lighthouse” by Amy Clare Fontaine
10th July 2020 • The Voice of Dog • Rob MacWolf and guests
00:00:00 00:06:55

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An abandoned lighthouse on a lonely cliff receives an unexpected visitor. Her new friend helps the lighthouse shine again. But will it last?

Today’s story is “Of a Hawk and a Lighthouse” by Amy Clare Fontaine, who is a wildlife biologist and a prolific author of furry fiction. Her books include the young adult fantasy Mist by Thurston Howl Publications and the anthropomorphic hyena novelette Beyond Acacia Ridge by Goal Publications. You can find more of her writings on www.amyclarefontaine.com.

Read for you by Khaki, your faithful fireside companion.

Transcripts

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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

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