Consolation

Last night I shared a bed with my nephew. He woke up three times at night and was up before eight in the morning. When he saw me, he smiled, crawled into my arms, and pointed at the ceiling — he wanted the lights on.

Our breakfast was milk and steamed sweet potato. I also made what I call a “Happy Toast”: a slice of bread with cheese and potato salad, strawberry jam drizzled like a child’s smiling face.

Later, when I finally found a moment alone to sit down at a cafe, two paper butterflies slipped from my notepad. They were from Japan — from a building in Ginza, where I had birthday sushi with a friend.

I smiled and wished myself a good day. A plain, simple day with no grave concerns.

I wished myself well.