Ah, that touch of light. Your eyes notice it, don’t they?

The way the sun sneaks into the bamboo, the way it lights up a tree trunk, it gets your attention.

Might even make you think that the water, the pure water, waiting for you at the entrance of the shrine, is pure.

Probably you studied about this in college biology, but even if you’ve forgotten what you read—or even if you skipped those pages, you little devil—it shouldn’t matter, it’s pretty clear: the way we want to lean into this December light proves what close relatives we are to all that grows in the plant kingdom. Without a doubt, we exploded from the same “star.”

What are you going to do? You know, don’t you? You’re going to walk right smack into the heart of that light.

And when you do, the colors are there waiting for you.

Oh how they delight!

Slow down. Enjoy them.

Let the light warm you.

If you’re one of those who might be getting a bit out of your comfort zone with all this touchy-feely, mighty lighty talk . . .

. . . take a look behind you. You’re standing on as firm a ground as your buddy, Fuji-kun.

And do me a favor. Please notice the momiji off to your left—or on your right, if you’re climbing (Yatsuyama) from Kiyomizu Park. And please, go ahead, wander off the path, step into the brush, stand under the trees. And . . .  

. . . just feel the light.

Me, as I stood there, I remembered the lyrics from a song by that Shizuoka folk duo (I can never remember what they call themselves!):

Lean into December light

Not so dark as darkest night

Lean into December light

Maybe we’ll feel all’ll be all right.

 If you feel this light the way I do, you’ll still have your eyes up in the sky even when your down off the mountain. You’ll have your eyes up in the sky even as you walk the asphalt street.

Persimmons left for the birds.