So Many Roads

In the shadow of Togetsu-kyo we eat soft cream, not far from where the well-dressed Chinese tourists take photos in front of that stone poem by Zhou Enlai. The trail up Matsuo-san is narrow and hard to find, leading up between two decaying houses that must've been gorgeous in another century. The initial ascent is steep and tough, not switchbacks but a lot of up. A man in his eighties pulls edible weeds from the hillside and puts them in the basket on his back. We stop to watch a centipede cross the trail and he overtakes us. Pretty spry for his age. Though we pass him again, he remains pretty close behind. We rest and drink tea at a small junction, then follow the loop trail up to the summit. There's an overlook partway up, where we find a bearded artist type listening to a ball game on his small radio. We look out over Western Kyoto, picking out landmarks. We've spent most of this year hiking the east side of town and it' s slightly disorientating to see things from the opposite side. Like looking at the back of a filmset. We find at the top a marker and a hollowed out animal cave. Down then into a valley, then begin to climb again. Halfway up, we meet a guy wearing a workweek shirt and tie, carrying a briefcase and slipping slightly in his dress shoes. It's Sunday. When he's out of earshot I say to Miki, "I pray we don't find the body of a young woman." The final decent ends at a small river. I dunk my head in, in the shadow of the small bicycles of boys frolicking somewhere further upstream.


On the turntable: Bright Eyes, "Lua"