That’s the New Lighthouse you can see – automated now, all run by computers.
The gubby white pillar next to it is the Old Lighthouse. That was manned years ago – two men, bachelors ususally, just themselves and the spray and the wind howling through the stacks. Before that causeway was built linking the hummocks of rock – before a safe way off the island.
Made you see things, living there – the light bleaching the fog, rock making the waves chitter, the round, round rooms. Your voice always returning to you.
How did the Old Lighthouse burn down? Well, that’s another story.