I kept looking between the islet at sea and the mountain to my right A January evening on Hachijo Island, with my coat held close as I take in the view

Late one January afternoon, I arrived at Osaka Tunnel Lookout. I got out and walked over to the viewing area; beyond the curved brown railing, the sea stretched out before me. I was wearing a pale purple knit dress and a cream coat. A breeze swept across the lookout, so I held my coat closed at the front. After studying the pattern of the stones underfoot, I slowly looked up.

Out to the left, Hachijo Kojima looked like a little mountain rising from the sea. To its right, Hachijo Fuji spread out its broad slopes. They were right there in front of me, yet felt completely different in scale and distance. I studied the islet first, then shifted my gaze to Hachijo Fuji. For a moment, I couldn’t decide which one to look at first.

As I looked towards Hachijo Fuji, I could follow the land from the mountain’s slopes all the way to the coast. The small buildings at its foot showed me how close people’s homes are to the mountain. I’d planned to look only at the far-off sea, but the shoreline closer to me kept catching my eye. It felt like seeing the island I’d driven across from a new angle.

I turned towards the patch of sea shimmering in the light. I couldn’t see the sun itself, but the evening light still spread across the sky and water. Standing in the breeze and holding my coat closed, I found myself craving a hot bowl of ashitaba udon for my next meal. I wanted to stay here just a little longer, with the taste of the island to look forward to.

I took one last look at the islet, then at Hachijo Fuji. There were so many shapes to take in, all within one view. I stepped away from the railing and went back to the car. When I’m driving, I look ahead at the road; when I stop, I take my time with the sea and mountains. I enjoyed that change of pace on today’s drive around the island, too.