A Lighthouse for the Soul — Quiet Luxury at MutsureshimaPrologue｜A Gentle Voyage to the “Crab Island”

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Prologue｜A Gentle Voyage to the “Crab Island”

It takes just 20 minutes by ferry from the city of Shimonoseki, yet the journey feels like crossing into another world.

Floating northwest of Hikoshima, the small island of Mutsureshima—nicknamed "Crab Island" for its unique shape—emerges like a forgotten chapter from an old travel journal.
As the boat glides over calm waters, the sounds of the engine and the sea begin to lull the senses.

The city slips away. In its place: a whispering wind and the subtle rhythm of the waves.
Time begins to loosen its grip.

Encounter｜Where Time Slows to a Whisper

Stepping onto the island, there’s a shift—not just in scenery, but in atmosphere.
The salty air carries a softness. Even the sound of footsteps feels gentler here.

Following a narrow path that winds through the island’s natural contours, you begin to feel the rarest of luxuries: silence.
This is not an island filled with attractions.
It is an island that invites you to simply be.

And somehow, that is more than enough.

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Turning Point｜The Lighthouse and the Memory of Blossoms

At the island’s western edge stands a solitary sentinel—Mutsureshima Lighthouse.
Built in 1903 and designated a National Important Cultural Property in 2020, it has witnessed over a century of tides, storms, and quiet sunrises.

Beside the lighthouse, two cherry trees stand in quiet bloom.

Planted around 70 years ago by a local resident named Sadako Kaneyama and others, the trees bloom each spring—not just as a seasonal event, but as a living memory.
They are a testament to time, rooted in care and community.
When seen through their delicate branches, the lighthouse takes on the stillness of a painting.
A moment you don’t capture—you keep it.

Epilogue｜A Light That Stays With You

As the ferry pulls away from Mutsureshima, I look back one last time.

The white lighthouse.
The two cherry trees swaying gently in the sea breeze.
The quiet.

Not everything precious needs grandeur.
Sometimes, a light and a memory are enough to draw you back.

And someday, I know I’ll return—not out of obligation, but out of longing for a kind of peace only places like this can give.