On the east side of the island in a deserted valley, I found a strange squat structure, half sunk into the muddy ground. It's octagonal shape implied a meeting place - it might be the islander's place to come together and decide on important matters, perhaps. From the top of the mountain (to the west of the structure) I could see the ocean in all directions. I signed my name in the log book, I was the only foreigner in a long list of natives.
The night was clear for the first time this week, and I wandered through the darkness, my head to the sky. I have always felt safe with a roof of stars above me, they seem protective, comforting. I saw three shooting ones, and countless circulating satellites. The lighthouse beat out its own shining signal, everything aware of each other, watching out, keeping safe and monitoring.
