東山 - higashiyama 39 - 5/1/26

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All the way up Higashiyama 39, I could hear the noise. Somewhere on the mountain, was what sounded like a chained-up dog, attempting to alert its owners of an intruder. Maybe it wasn’t chained, but I got the feeling it was both restrained and on alert. Echoing out through the canyons, its bark became a dissonant streak in the background of the otherwise hush atmosphere.

 

I hiked in relative peace down below, too busy appreciating the height of the red woods and following the trickling stream with my eyes that criss-crossed back and forth between the large trees’ dominating root paths.

 

At the bottom, I’d come across a large pond, divided on one side by a small dam with three large koi fish swimming in its still waters. One a blackened gray color, another orange, and one of creamy white. All about half a meter in length.

 

I sat and watched them from a nearby tree that grew out from the edge and leaned over the shore as they convened and slowly dispersed. I wondered what their lives were like. Was three a good number for them? Perhaps, there were more somewhere, sleeping or nestled under the plants on the other side.

 

Later, I’d pass an elderly man, pausing, almost entranced, in the center of the path, gazing up at the trees, smiling. He seemed to mirror what I felt of the place, being somewhere between wondrous and restful even despite the reverberations of the dog. Energy was slowly flowing upward.

 

I pushed on and marvelled at the deep turquoise ferns and pine needles on the boughs overhead before coming across an abandoned baby carriage. It was stood upright in one of the dry river beds off to the left of the trail, tucked back, deep, and out of sight, in a small ravine.

 

Someone had tried to hide it, I supposed, and yet, from the look of things, it was practically brand new. I wondered about the circumstances that led to that decision. What would compel someone to leave it there? Had they foolishly attempted to hike the trail with it, before opting to carry their child instead or had they come all the way up there just to trash it? Would they be coming back?

 

Near the top, at a junction where two trails made an x, I entered a clearing, passing some old radio towers that looked out onto eastern Kyoto, after struggling to discern warning signs in Japanese about the area’s aggressive monkeys. I saw none, but wished I had, still intermittently, noticing the call of the dog somewhere on one of the opposing hills, begging for its owner to come home and hear its concerns.

 

There weren't really any houses in the hills that rose above Misasagi Station. It felt almost taboo to imagine staking out territory on the mountain, with so many temples and shrines nearby, to build a private home.

 

But somewhere, under all that dense foliage, it seemed someone had.