I’ve been steadily off the pace since the end of April. Probably before that to be honest.

A lot has gone on since then, the big final trip and preparation’s for going back home, and daily life, as I figure out the first parts of this next adventure, and will still trying to be present in the current one.

It’s funny to me how immensely your rhythm can change within a short time span. I have been distance from any real creative impulse. But I suppose that would be the case, when you’re looking at the end of a two year sojourn and the logistics of lugging shit five thousand miles back to your hometown.

In the beginning of the week, I participating in a 2000 year old red rice, planting ceremony. It’s been a part of the culture in Tsushima for nearly as long as it’s been an inhabited island.

I took some photos and videos of the starred as I watched my students slog through the muddy field to stand in a line and plant rice seeds.

Before long, I join them with bare feet. Mud squelched in between my toes. The water was filled with tadpoles and earthworms. It would become more of a glade than a field at that point. Very enthusiastic old man with gold cap teeth and tan baseball hat gave instruments as we planted the rice.

We spent two hours out there and it felt like a lot less. It was easily one of the best experiences I’ve had on the island. If you had to summon up some studio Ghibli magic from any moment during my time here (aside from the fireflies) that would have been it.

Afterwards the day went back to normal classes with the requisite field day training (complete with wind sprints AND silly dances).

All the while I try to appreciate the grains of sand as they tick out from the clock.

Sometimes the best moments are in between snacking on clover and cursing at the death lord-looking spider twirling up an unlucky fly.