Heart of a Samurai by Margi Preus

Long after all the others had gone to bed, Manjiro stood at the door of the hut. The moon made a path of light leading to the ocean and beyond-perhaps all the way to America. It looked as if he could walk there on that path of light.

It was so still, he could hear the rush of waves on the beach; the solemn hoot of an owl rolled down the mountainside. Beyond that was a deep and ancient silence, as old as these hills.