August 21. Up Hakkorei, then over to Oyarei. And then back.

Lots of sunshine early morning.

Sunshine on the torikabuto (“bird with a monk’s hood”). In the olden days, the juice from this guy was used to dip the tips of spears and arrows in. Very poisonous. Look, don’t eat.

And just ask the sky and the leaves how red a berry can get!

A typhoon was not so far away–and that can do some strange things to the clouds. When we looked over the ridge, off our right shoulder, the Yamanashi side, we saw that our dear friend Fuji . . .

. . . had fallen into a hole.

Or so it seemed. Crazy thing, perspective. Just like my mother used to tell me: “When you think you’re better than the guy next to you because he’s fallen into a hole and you haven’t, well, you go calling him stupid—or genetically challenged, or some other crap—and that’s when you’re going to get a better look and he’s going to rise majestically into the sky and you are going to feel mighty stupid. Never judge a person by the size of the hole he’s fallen into. He may not have dug it himself.”

For the record, we were standing at about 1800 meters. The tippity top of Mt. Fuji is 3,776  meters.

Along the ridge we went, up Hakkorei.

 We were lucky to have such a nice blue sky for the first hour, but the clouds finally closed in—and we turned our attention to all the little things.

Once you turn your attention to the little things, THERE IS NO END.

I, especially like the leaves. They are color magicians, superb painters. Especially, leaves that fall a little early. You can’t do this with your skin, can you!

And their grace and ninja-like movements are amazing.

Take the most decorated Rio gymnast and fling him out of a tree. No way he can stick his landing as this red fellow did . . . and on the tiniest of blades of bamboo grass.

Utterly amazing.

My hearty hiking teammate, however, got most interested in the mushrooms, and it wasn’t long before I caught her fever. No sooner do you tell your eyes there may be mushrooms growing here and there and nearly everywhere than, what do you know, there are mushrooms growing here and there and everywhere.

They, too, are amazing. Some liked sunbathing. Some just like nestling in between Ma and Pa.

Here are some of them.

           

Once you’ve got your eyes down on the ground, there’s no telling what you might see—and that includes snakes—two I nearly stepped on. But it also includes this pale green stuff, below, growing up from the moss—first time for me.  If anyone knows what you call it, let me know. Some sort of lichen?

Lunch atop Oyarei . . .

. . . was a little misty. Most days the mist settles in and stays in, but this day, just as we were approaching to top of Hakkorei again, the winds whipped through . . .

. . . and the skies cleared again.

I wish you’d been there.

On the other side of the Hakkorei summit, the silver spirit tree rose up into that blue sky.

Rose up into it until, maybe a minute later, the blue disappeared again.

Everything is always changing. No need to try to fight it. Just enjoy the silver spirit tree in the blue while you can . . . wherever it is, wherever you are . . . whenever you come across it.