It began with an early morning, luggage on an airport carpet, and passports kept close. Two bags each. Shiba-dog tags on the carry-ons picked out on our last over-seas trip nearly two years ago — the one that changed our perspectives entirely.
We boarded in the dark and took off into blue. Flying east means flying toward the morning. The cabin lights were low, the windows turned gold, and for hours the sun rose behind us until it passed overhead and we began chasing it across the sky.
Flying east, the sun never goes down. You just keep arriving in the morning.
Japan met us in the afternoon. Power lines, a forty-kilometer speed sign, a convenience store glowing at the end of the block. The ordinary landscape of a country that was strangely homey though we had only visited once before. We are in Tsukuba now — the end of the train line on the map we prayed over.
The team greeted us with a warm meal and friendly conversation after a long day of travel. It felt nice to finally get to meet them in person for the first time.
The next morning, we woke up at 5am, our bodies not quite used to the time difference. We walked out beyond the rice fields, the mountains on the horizon. Half the fields were cut, half were still green. A place in the middle of its own harvest.
So here we are. Jet-lagged and deeply grateful to every person who helped get us here. The sun we were chasing all the way over is the same one that came up on this field this morning, and the Son we came to talk about was already here waiting.
