The lights of Funchal glitter across the distance. They are the last sights I see before I close the curtains for the night. They are coming on now, across the river and the valley, turning a view that is red tile and greenery into a sea of pinpoint light.

Our flight leaves in the wee hours, so I’m writing a few hours ahead, at a time when I might be going out to dinner.

Leaving is never easy, but it’s part of the process. To travel again someday requires leaving here tomorrow. And so, we leave.

(A few lights linger in a Madeira dawn)