One Day Closer

It's four a.m.

The village lights flicker below me — small, scattered constellations pressed into the dark mountainside. The electricity is on. Good. It's not a given here. I feel a quiet surge of gratitude for something I rarely notice until it's gone.

The coffee pot burbles and gurgles behind me, coaxing out a slow, fragrant stream of black, liquid gold — geisha coffee, grown right here in the highlands.

Not even the birds are awake.

Outside, Simon, the guard dog, sleeps – snoring softly and unconcerned. The only thought that passes through my mind is a brief awareness — it's scorpion season. A flicker of curiosity about what moves unseen in the dark.

And even that feels…neutral.

Mostly, I feel peaceful. But it wasn't always this way.