Kyogamisaki Lighthouse and the Sea in Early Summer Even the little handkerchief I brought feels like Tango

On a late June morning, I got out of the car and walked to Kyogamisaki Lighthouse. From the path on the hillside, I could see the lighthouse rising above the white building, with the sea stretching out behind it. From up here, the sea looked different from how it had looked from the coast. After walking all this way, I felt as if I’d reached the far end of the cape.

I took the Tango chirimen handkerchief I’d brought out of my bag. When I opened the small square with both hands, I could feel the fabric’s fine, raised texture against my fingertips. Light fell across the pale-pink cloth, bringing out details I hadn’t seen while it was folded. I loved being able to look out at the sea while feeling a piece of Tango’s woven fabric in my hands.

My driving friend asked, “Is that chirimen?” “Yeah, it is. Those tiny raised ridges are called shibo,” I said. As I tilted the cloth, the way the light hit it changed. The name had always made me think of kimono fabric, but holding it made it feel much more familiar. I showed my friend the texture, then gently adjusted my hold on the cloth.

When I looked up, I noticed the seams between stones in the lighthouse walls and the narrow frames around the lantern room. From a distance, it looked like one white shape, but up close I could see all the little details. Maybe because I’d just been looking at the handkerchief in my hands, I found myself noticing more details on the lighthouse, too. I kept shifting my gaze between the bright sea and the white walls.

As I folded the handkerchief and tucked it back into my bag, I wondered if unfolding it next time would bring back this stretch of sea. I’ll remember the walk to the cape and the shape of the lighthouse along with that little piece of cloth. I love getting to hold something from the region while taking in the scenery. Before getting back on the coastal road, I took one more look at the lantern room.