Test manuel frem for automatisk oversættelse

The old lighthouse keeper, with a face weathered by salt and sun, watched the horizon with a practiced eye. A storm was brewing, the kind that turned the sea from a gentle whisper to a furious roar. He knew every mood of the ocean, every trick of the wind, and yet, the unpredictability of it all still filled him with a quiet sense of awe. A lone gull cried overhead, a final warning before the sky turned a bruised purple, signaling the coming tempest.