Yambushi. March 10th. The unpredictable spring.

The forecast was for sunshine all day, but about halfway through the drive up to Umegashima, I realized (just waking up, apparently) that it was clouds from here to forever, and rain was falling.

So I got myself in the mood for a “grey day.” That’s not hard to do. Colors are brighter in the forest on grey days.

Once I was on the trail, though, walking along the river, I realized that it was really going to be a “water day.” We’ve had several days of heavy rain, and the river was rushing down the mountain about twice it’s normal size. Waterfalls, never seen before (okay, never seen by me before), had popped out here and there and were pouring water everywhere.

Water-falls. Water always follows its own nature. It likes to go down, and as it only does what it likes to do, it does a mighty fine job of it.

Well, obviously, it was going to be a day when you thought to yourself that the only way you’d ever be happy would be to  if you found the thing you liked to do as much as the water likes falling, found what comes natural to you . . . could only be happy if, at the least, got yourself headed in the right direction and proceeded at your own pace.

Once the trail turned away from the river, though, and I was in the wet woods, I began to feel maybe it was going to be a “spring day.” Things were brightening up, greening up.

You could feel the water in the ground. You could almost hear the roots sucking it in. You could almost see the tissue in the leaves swell.

And then . . .

I went around a bend . . .

. . . and walked into a winter wonderland. It really went from green, green, green to white, white, white in a heartbeat.

It was about 3 degrees centigrade when I started, and of course it gets cooler as you head into the forest and up along the river, so it was not so odd for the light drizzle to have turned to snow, but still it caught me off guard. The contrast was stark.

For a second, I really felt as if I had entered a magical kingdom, a Disney world.

But a feeling that you’ve entered into a magical world is . . . . . . assuming that you actually are in the real world, and not in a Disney movie or an S-F novel . . .

A feeling that you’ve entered into a magical world is actually . . . 

. . . a recognition that you still have a lot of undiscovered land inside yourself.

You will always have a lot of undiscovered land inside yourself.

This is a great thing. Invigorating and calming all at once.

Enjoy it when you can.

At the top of Yambushi, a tiny sliver of the sky went blue for about thirty seconds.

There was lovely light.

2014 meters up from sea level. From my car, about two hours and forty-five minutes.

Me and one other guy were up there to see the summit and the sky above it.

On the way down, I heard this woodpecker tap, tap, tapping. My sweet little camera zoomed as much as it could, but we were pretty far off, and thus the picture is blurry. Sorry.

On the way down, I took a route that neither  I nor the other hiker had on the way up. So no footprints.

It’s nice to walk in pristine snow . . . if it’s not too deep . . . and if you can find the trail.

 

A plum-viewing picnic!

In Fujieda. Thirty or forty minutes from Shizuoka City.

Along the banks of the Seto River. Dozens of plum trees.

Strolling along, singing a song.

White so white.

Lots of folks joining the show.

Thirty or forty mejiro flit by. They seem to have a one tree, one flower policy. As a group, they seem to flow along like a river. Too hard to get a picture. Best just to watch them zig and zag.

The mukudori are pretty energetic, too, but they move at a slightly slower pace.

A glorious day.