The Epoch of Black Glass Shrouded in ink, lit by cannon

My grandfather, the fisherman not the farmer, was fascinated with light.   Not the kind we get from candles and glowlamps, but the kind they say used to fill the skies, day or night. Back when day and night held some meaning, and weren't just the times we were awake or asleep, respectively.   He researched the Sun, the Stars, and the Moon whenever he was on land, then would take the materials he found out to sea with him. Father liked to joke that his research was what kept him from getting glassed for all those years. His search for the light was too important to die.   Boy, sometimes I wish he had found those lights. Even underneath the lamps and lanterns, I can't help but feel the world I travel is cold and dark. The light in the trees and animals only slightly alleviates the crushing and claustrophobic feeling.   I've spent my life attempting to outrun it, or find a place that provides some sort of succor from it but so far it's been to no avail. Until that time, I might as well write down what I see.