Bridge of Sighs

 And what had been truncated by a bolt of lightning was finally allowed a conclusion.  Rain was expected for afternoon, so we got an early start, returning to the old temple and shrine combo and the kusunoki tree that had sheltered us all.  The temple was small, with the odd name of Hachiyorengeji, and renowned for a 12th century Buddha, locked out of sight within. The were a few nice statues on the narrow grounds, but the granddaddy of them all was further up the hillside, near hidden by bamboo.  Its face was barely visible, worn by a thousand years of weather.  

It was a good start to the day, through a lovely stretch of mixed-growth forest, and around a pond whose lily-pads lingered from the glory days of August.  More treasures came soon enough, at Mimuro Aragami Jinja, and the towering stones above.  A few hikers were enjoying the sunshine, others the view.  We climbed up to the highest stone, stacked near vertical, and played name that peak.  The day being clear, we had plenty to admire.  Wes noted that the view had been opened up by the felling of trees in the forest below, which had also revealed a few niches in the rock face itself, where stone Buddhas had once been displayed.   They, like the trees, were now long gone.    

Dropping back again, we came across some firemen having a drill of some kind, their hoses arcing water high and into a large reservoir.  There was a nature center on the other side of the water where Wes's neighbor worked, so we popped in for a chat, talking mainly of the copious display of birds:  the kingfisher and its rich blue;  the osprey and its proud wingspan. 

It wasn't far to the peak of Kunimi and its views up the Kyoto basin.  Descending now, we came to the ruins of an old feudal watchtower bedecked with flags, and the Fufu-iwa stones which tempted but whose heights placed them just out of reach.  

Then the forest was gone, the timber now taking the form of crossbeams and roof lines. These suburban houses were quiet on a sunny Sunday, the humidity gone with the last of August.  And the train platform marked the true end to our six -year, fifty kilometer traverse of the Ikoma range, a trek broken and fragmented by changes in weather, changes in residences, and changes brought on by child raising.  Little surprise I suppose as the kanji for Ikoma, 生駒, can be loosely translated as the "To bring to life."   


On the turntable: John Fahey,  "The Legend of Blind Joe Death"