In front of me was a beach with white sand so fine it was like a powder, and when I stood up the sand stuck to my knees and hands. The sky above me was gray and low with rain clouds ready to burst, but they filled me with comfort. No sadness at all, not like storms often do. I only felt a kind of lightness, like I might float away.

The powdery sand was the softest thing I’d ever walked on. I drifted up out of the water onto the beach, and a warm breeze dried me. I still felt a little hazy from holding my breath for so long.

I kept walking. There was something about that sand—the warmth of it radiated up into my feet and made me feel alive! The beach led up to grass that felt like strands of silk, so soft I had to lie down on it. I stared up at that beautiful, low, gray sky, and Grampy, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to come back to you. I’m so sorry I felt that way. That place filled me with such peace. I stayed there for a long time, stretched out on the grass, soaking in the gentle warmth, watching the clouds drift overhead.

I remembered the silver-haired woman and I remembered you, and it was mostly because I had promised her that I would bring back what she needed, and her promise to help you, that I was able to get up. I walked inland for a long time—it felt like days—until I came up over one hill, and there in front of me was a short stone wall. Beyond that, a bending path led down into a valley between two mountain ranges, and tucked away in the far corner of that green valley, alongside the path, was a white farmhouse with a small barn.

Here the grass was up to my knees and made whispering sounds as I walked through it. Everything smelled like spring, like life, like the first day of a vacation in the mountains. I approached the house down the path, and the closer I got, the quieter the house seemed. From a distance the house had looked completely white, but as I got closer I could see that the trim around the eaves was painted the lightest of blues, the same as the door and the shutters. There was a chimney, and smoke eased its way out and mixed with the low clouds that hid the tops of the mountains. Off in the distance, what I thought were boulders on the hillside were actually white sheep grazing. Everything about the scene was comforting—the green of the grass and the hills, the low clouds, the mountains disappearing into the sky, and the slow sheep.

When I got to the house, I peeked through one of the windows. Who lived here? Through that window I could see the kitchen, not fancy at all but clean and tidy and welcoming. And on the table, in the middle of the room, lay a small, leather-bound journal with a leather tie that wrapped around it and kept it closed.