The first weekend in May! We decided to go up to Umegashima, to the Hakkorei trail, to see how the yashio were doing.
They were doing great!
I think we knew, 15 kilometers away, when we passed the Umegashima plum orchard, that the yashio were going to be lovely.
When we passed the waterfall, still three or four kilometers away from the trail, and saw the shimmering green and blue there too, we knew—down to the bone—how lovely the yashio would be.
And then there they were—so lovely.
It was hard to believe, but Vam-I-Am was there, too. He seemed befuddled by how much joy the yashio were giving us. His brow was wrinkled and his head was tilted to the side—and we realized he was wondering if there could be any situation in which the yashio did not give us joy. (Of course, we we were wondering if he didn’t have something else better to do.)
And Vam-I-Am said to us, “You like them when the sun is bright, but would you like them in the night?”
We nodded.
“Of course, we like them when it’s bright, but they’re also nice in dreams at night.”
“But,” Vam-I-am said, “Would you like them while you lunch? Would you like them in a bunch?”
“Why, yes,” we replied. “We especially like to see them in a bunch–especially while we munch our lunch.”
“Would you like them with purple flowers near? Then would they seem to you so dear?”
Again we nodded.
“Yes, we’d like like them still with purple near—even with the grey they’re dear.”
“If Fuji couldn’t find his hat? Could you like them on a day like that?”
“Lost his hat? What do you mean by that? She’s merely thrilled to see aglow the bright and lovely yashio!”
“What if you stubbed your toe, would you like them then? Would you like them if there were only ten?”
“Especially if we stubbed our toe–we’re never going to answer no. Ten or five or two or one! Why one would give us so much fun!”
“What if they burned your hand? Upon your soul made some demand?”
“Oh, Vam-I-am, what’s wrong with you? Can’t you see when things are true?”
That exasperated him, let me tell you. He threw his hands up in despair, then pressed them to his sides, flopped down on his belly, and slithered back down the mountain.
We Hearty Hikers shrugged our shoulder and turned our attention back to the yashio.
Then we heard another voice. The purple mountain azaleas were talking.
“Yashio, yashio!” they moaned. “What about us?”
“You’re lovely, too,” we replied.
