I don’t usually get affected by things like light, but the light here is so good, it’s kind of driving me crazy, illuminating while softening while solidifying everything, all the pines branching up, the tawny dog camouflaged in the dirt path ahead of us, and the black and white dog, running up through the burnt part of the trees where the fire had been. It’s funny to feel a place so physically, like it’s an oddly shaped, porous stone inside your chest, but one that fits correctly and doesn’t hurt, a relic just making itself known. I feel it especially at the bottom of the many steps under the house where the sea is. It’s so warm there at midday, I have to take off my coat and turn my back to the sun. The air smells like salt water and syrup in January, and my hands smell like the iron gate you have to push open to get through.   

After I left Sanià, I had to do some travel for work. On the trips, I kept finding myself again, in different configurations, walking down many steps to the sea, like walking down the steps daily in Sanià carved out a new shape I’ll always now find in my shifting landscape.