Today, g-ma would be 90.

I'm at the cabin again. Weary. Twelve hours of travel and mountains, and of too much work/study/obligations before that. For the first time since maybe the last time I was here I can rest.

This time I remembered the way. The first time I think I felt daunted by the darkness, but this time reaching the cabin was like returning home 「 帰ります」. Everything was waiting, same as I left it a year ago.

Yesterday was hot and clear. The car baked in long lines at the border and the ferry dock. I didn't get to board a boat until after 8:00 p.m. In the dusk the ferry burned across the strait. Air washing over the boat was still and warm—even though water-cooled, it was warm enough that we could stand in its unfettered streams without coats on. I did that, did it as much as I could stand just because this type of season is so rare.

We sailed for sunset, which by my reckoning was north. The sky darkened and all the light siphoned toward a red-hot band on the horizon. It was stunning; many people dug out cameras to try to steal some light back.

It was completely dark by the time we landed, and it was after 10:00 pm. I started the long winding drive across the island, weary, my head and consciousness twitching with sleeplessness. I didn't feel tired; I was awake but slow, buggy, cognition unreliable. Three hours of driving to go. I worried that something would happen that would delay rest and comfort. Nothing happened, of course.

From time to time, my eyes would catch small lights on the horizon. I'd look to see the source—a house or car—and be surprised to see stars! Every time.

Where have the stars gone? We abandoned our relationship with the firmament for something…. I don't know what. What happens, is happening to us, if we deny this connection? (Did secularism rise with incandescence? Did we reject god, in all its meanings, when we couldn't see the evidence of our insignificance anymore? Out of sight, out of mind.)

Seeing the heavens so clearly for the first time in such a long time was breathtaking—I was so tired, though. I promised myself that I would watch the stars from the cabin. So far, today, I've not seen the sky, only clouds. The ocean is green.

Coming here this time feels a bit like playing hooky. Leaving the class and missing the exam. So, it has been a little more difficult to let go in some ways. But in other ways, it has been easier. My body, for example, fell into the place, recalled instantly the comfort and did not waste time bartering with imaginary barriers.