Lighthouse Ladybug
The nubble lighthouse guides the way.
His ashes scattered on a raw, cold stormy day.
As we toss the powdery gravel into the wet winds the dark death covers us like the a blanket of burden of the trial we were living.
Heavy, dark, stormy and little visibility.
Many years have now passed and as we visit that sacred spot, today we are welcomed by lady luck instead of the darkness of death.
A sole ladybug scurries across the salty rocks.
An unexpected character on this light filled day.
“Is that grampy,” she asked.
“Yes baby, I it is,” I reply.
