mladý Werther

The lighthouse had stood there since before he was born. At low jagged rocks protruding from the dark sand on the coast, it sticked up to low clouds driven by salty wind from the sea. Its reflector flashed cold waves with golden light. There, where it shined, the wild element did not seem so coldly bottomless. He always found a kind of solace in that color. He liked to set up his hands to the large reflector watching how the goldness wraps his fingers, palms and wrists... However, lately it seemed that the light was fading. It was losing its power. It was cold, weak and lifeless. The reflector often flickered and went out completely for a while. Again, he stood in front of the broken window at the top of the tower with the light behind him and he let the blowing wind to ruffle his hair. With closed eyes, breathing-in the scent of the sea and the wet sand on the shore beneath, the dust deposited on the massive beams under round-pointed roof, the old wood, the wet plaster and the p