Fanad Head

Nighttime is the worst. Not even the gulls to break the solitude.
Sometimes Uaine climbs up into the tower, and sits there, with only
the great light for company. Slowly it turns; its powerful beam a
terrible warning to steer clear. There will be no visitors tonight.
Sometimes Uaine sees the lights of a passing ship, far out to sea, and he
watches them, wondering who sits under them. Perhaps an old sea-dog
like himself, reading a book, or writing a letter to a loved one, far
away. He stares after them until they drop silently below the
horizon.

Then it closes in again. The darkness; the ceaseless roar of the
sea; the numbing loneliness.

Go ahead - send Uaine a wee note.