At night, the lights show me where the coastline runs A view over Shōnan from the Rest House Observation Deck on an August night

One August night, I drove to Shōnan-daira with a friend. After a day exploring the coast and stopping for shirasu at lunch, this was our last stop. I parked in the large car park and walked to the Rest House Observation Deck. I was wearing a black off-the-shoulder top and a white skirt. At around 19:30, the city spread out before me, already glowing.

The TV tower stood to the left, its lower section lit green, with a red light at the top. When I shifted my gaze to the city, tiny lights stretched into the distance. There wasn’t one huge building taking over the view. As I traced the lights, I realised the city spread much farther than I’d expected.

“Is the sea over there?” I said to my friend as we looked to the right. The city lights curved along the coast, and beyond them the sea was dark. I could see where the land ended and the sea began more clearly than the water itself. In daylight, I’d watched the sea; at night, I kept coming back to the coastline. I followed it as far as I could see.

I let my gaze drop to the trees in front of me. The park nearby had its own lights, and the city stretched beyond it. The way the brightness changed gradually from the near trees to the distant city fascinated me. Even while my friend looked the other way, I kept returning to the sea’s edge I’d noticed earlier.

After we agreed it was time to head back, I took one last look at the city. We’d seen the sea by day, stopped for shirasu at lunch, and finished above the city after dark. It was a day spent exploring Shōnan, with something different to enjoy at every hour. On the way back to the car, my friend and I talked about which places we’d been able to see clearly. Even choosing a song for the drive home felt like one more part of the evening.