Trees In the Town

 

Sarashina Diary: Retold in the present tense (5)

 

In August, I go to Koryu-ji temple at Uzumasa to shut myself up for days. I come upon two men's palanquins stopping in the road from Ichijo. They must be waiting for someone to catch up with them. When I pass by, they send an attendant with the first half of a tanka poem:

On our way to view the blossoms, we chance to see you—

A flower blooming along the path.

I am told that it would be awkward not to reply wittily with the latter half of the poem:

The flower you see is but one of thousands of wild autumn plants,

Ripening in the fields of this eighth month.

Ignoring them, I stay in the temple for seven days. I think of nothing but the route to the East and stop being lost in romantic fantasies. I pray to the Buddha, saying, "Let us meet again peacefully." I wish the Buddha should pity and grant my prayer.

It is winter. It rains all day. In the night, winds blow terribly and scatter the clouds. The winds clear the sky, and the moon becomes exquisitely bright. Seeing the pampas grasses near the house blown down by the heavy winds, I remember my sad situation:

Dead stalks of pampas grass,

Withered in midwinter depths,

Must long for the autumn days

Before the tempest blew them down.

A messenger arrives from the East. My father, Sugawara Takasue (972–?), writes:

"I made official visits to the shrines in Hitachi Province as the Governor. On my way, I passed a wide field with a beautiful river running through it. I found a beautiful grove, wishing I could show it to you. I asked the name of the grove. 'The Grove of Longing After Children' was the answer. Compared with my situation, I felt extremely sad. Alighting from my horse, I stood there for hours. I felt like this:"

Has the Grove of Longing After Children

Left its own behind, to grieve as I do?

Looking upon it,

I am filled with sorrow.

To say something in return will be sadder than to read that letter, but I reply:

Hearing how you yearn for me,

I feel the deep heartbreak

Of my father journeying East,

Leaving his child behind.

Thus, I spend days doing nothing. Why do I not think of making pilgrimages? It is because my mother is a person of an extremely antiquated mind, and she says, "Oh, it is simply terrifying to even think of visiting Hase-dera Temple in Hatsuse! What on earth would you do if you were ambushed by ruthless outlaws at Narasaka Hill? And Ishiyama-dera Temple? Heaven forbid! Crossing the Sekiyama Pass to Lake Biwa is utterly death-defying! As for Mount Kurama, it is frighteningly steep, as you well know. It would be absolute madness to take a fragile thing like you to such places! You shall not go anywhere until your father returns."

As my mother speaks this way and treats me like a nuisance, I can only go to and stay at Kiyomizu-dera Temple. However childish it might look to others, my habits of romantic indulgence are not dead yet, and I cannot fix my mind on religious thoughts as I am supposed to. It is in the equinoctial week, and there is a great tumult. It is so noisy that I am even afraid of it. When I doze off, I dream that a priest in blue garments with a loose brocade hood and brocade shoes is in the enclosure before the altar. He seems to be the intendant of the temple and says, "You are occupied with vain thoughts without knowing the unhappiness of your future," speaking indignantly before he goes behind the curtain. I awake startled, yet neither tell anyone what I have dreamt, nor think about it much.

My mother is sorry for not bringing me to Hase-dera Temple. Instead, she has a bronze mirror, one foot in diameter, cast and makes a monk take it for us to Hase-dera Temple in Hatsuse. Mother tells the monk to spend two or three days in the temple, especially praying that a dream might be vouchsafed about my future state. For that period, I am made to observe religious purity, abstaining from meat.

The monk comes back to tell the following:

"I was reluctant to return without having even a dream. I was afraid I could report nothing without a dream. After bowing many times and performing religious services, I went to sleep. There came out from behind the curtain a graceful, holy lady in beautiful garments. She, taking up the offered mirror, asked me if any letter was affixed to the mirror. I answered in the most respectful manner, 'There was no letter. I was told only to offer the mirror.' 'Strange!' she said. 'A letter is to be added. Look at what is mirrored here. It is a pity to see the image.' She wept bitterly. I saw the images of people turning over in lamentation. 'To see the images makes me sad, but to look at this.' She showed me another image. There, the bamboo screens were fresh green and many-coloured garments were revealed below the lower edges of them. Plum and cherry blossoms were in flower. Nightingales were singing from tree to tree. She said, 'It makes me happy to see the image.' I had such a dream."

I do not even listen to his story, nor question him as to how things appeared in the mirror.

I am not devout, but some people tell me to pray to the Goddess Amaterasu. At first, I used to wonder where she was, and if she was a Shinto Goddess or a Buddha. As I have grown older, I ask someone about her, and she says, "She is a goddess and is in Ise Province. The goddess is also worshipped by the Governor of Kii Province. Above all, she is worshipped at the sacred shrine within the Imperial Palace." I cannot, by any means, visit Ise. How can I bow before the Imperial shrine? I can never be allowed to go there. I have a helpless idea to pray to the celestial light.

A relative of mine becomes a Buddhist nun and enters Sugaku-in Temple. In winter, I send her a tanka poem:

Even my tears arise for your sake,

When I imagine the mountain village

Where the cold winter snowstorms

Will soon be fiercely raging.

She replies:

I seem to see your deep kindness,

As if it comes to find me

Through the dark, tangled thicket

Of the summer plants and leaves.

My father, Sugawara Takasue (972–1040?), who went down to Hitachi Province, comes back at last. He settles down temporarily at Nishiyama (West Hill) to alter the direction of his entry into Kyoto for a luckier omen according to Onmyodo, the Way of Yin and Yang, and we all go there to join him. We are filled with immense joy. As the moon shines brightly at night, we talk all through the night, and I compose:

In contrast to tonight’s pure delight,

How sorrowful was that autumn night,

When I feared our parting was for good,

And I wept in the deep solitude.

At this, my father sheds bitter tears and answers me with a tanka poem:

I once deeply disliked my life,

For my dreams had never come true.

But this joyful reunion today

Makes my fading life feel sweet anew.

My joy is boundless after waiting and waiting for the safe return of my father. Yet, my father says, "When I saw old and weak people leading their worldly lives, I found it ridiculous. Now, it is my turn to be old and to retire." As he says it with no lingering affection for the world, I feel quite helpless.

From our temporary dwelling in Nishiyama, the fields roll out wide and far toward the east. My eyes trace the sweeping crest of the distant eastern mountains, stretching from Mount Hiei in the north down to Mount Inari in the south. Bringing my gaze closer, there is Narabi Hill nearby in the foreground; its pine forest rustles so vividly it feels as if the sound is whispering right by my ear. Nestled between that hill and our dwelling, what are known as “rice fields” cascade up the hillside; the crisp clapping of the bird-scarers echoes from them, casting a lonely yet nostalgic countryside charm over me.

Trees In the Town

 

Virtual Kako County Saigoku 33 Kannon Pilgrimage #10 Joju-ji Temple

 

     The stone monument marking the original site of Joju-ji Temple stands in front of the Kakogawa City General Welfare Center. The temple is said to have been founded by Prince Shotoku (574–622), alongside Kakurin-ji and Saiko-ji (later renamed Shomyo-ji) Temples.

     In 1389, Ashikaga Yoshimitsu (1358–1408), the third Shogun of the Muromachi Shogunate, stayed at the temple. As the Ashikaga family held the position of the head of the prestigious Minamoto Clan, Yoshimitsu was revered as its supreme commander, and his stay bestowed immense prestige upon Joju-ji Temple. This status endured into the Edo Period (1603–1867) under the Tokugawa Shogunate, whose ruling family also claimed Minamoto lineage. This deep-rooted prestige attracted numerous high-ranking samurai—even those outside the Minamoto Clan. The high volume of elite visitors eventually led to the establishment of the Himeji Domain's Jinya (a regional government office), which functioned as a reception hall, within the area in 1752. Around this time, a magnificent pine tree on the temple grounds was celebrated as Kako no Matsu (the Pine of Kako).

     However, the Meiji Restoration of 1868 brought the samurai era to an abrupt end. Along with these societal shifts, Joju-ji Temple entered a period of physical transition, relocating first to the vicinity of today's Kakogawa Plaza Hotel, and eventually to its current location.

     Given that Joju means "to settle or remain forever," the temple’s history of relocation sounds rather ironic.

Background and Details of the Relocations

The First Relocation: From Jikemachi to Mizonokuchi

• Time: Late Meiji to early Taisho era

• Reason: Land acquisition for the expansion of Nippon Keori (Nikke)

• Details: Originally, Joju-ji Temple was located in Jikemachi (Temples Township). However, following the opening of the Kakogawa Plant of Nippon Keori Co., Ltd. (commonly known as Nikke) in 1899, the company rapidly expanded. As Nikke acquired and developed vast stretches of surrounding land for factory sites and company housing, the temple surrendered its historic grounds and made its first relocation to Mizonokuchi, a prime location in front of Kakogawa Station.

The Second Relocation: From Mizonokuchi to Honmachi

• Time: 1984 (Showa 59)

• Reason: The Kakogawa Station Front Land Readjustment Project (Urban Redevelopment)

• Details: In the late 1970s and 1980s, Kakogawa City launched a large-scale urban redevelopment initiative known as the "Land Readjustment Project" to modernize the area around the station. The entire precinct of Joju-ji Temple in Mizonokuchi was included in the planned redevelopment zone. The city and the Kakogawa Chamber of Commerce and Industry acquired the temple site to build a new chamber building and a modern urban hotel. Consequently, the temple relocated once again in 1984 to its present location in Honmachi. The Kakogawa Plaza Hotel was constructed on the former temple site the following year.

     Today, Joju-ji Temple stands near the historic site of the Kako River Ferry Port, which has since been replaced by the Kakogawa Bridge. Despite the ironic nature of its name, the temple has proven to be an incredibly resilient survivor of countless historical upheavals: the Great Harima Earthquake of 868, the turbulence of the Northern and Southern Courts period (1336–1392), the Warring States period (1467–1568), the anti-Buddhist movement (Haibutsu Kishaku) at the dawn of the Meiji era, the devastation of World War II, and the rapid post-war economic miracle (1955–1973) that erased so many other minor historic sites without a trace.

     Having stood the test of time through these vast historical shifts, what changes will the temple witness as it looks ahead into the age of AI and the distant future?

Address: Honmachi−214-7 Kakogawacho, Kakogawa, Hyogo 675-0037

Phone: 079-422-2263

Kakogawa City General Welfare Center

Address: Jikemachi−177-12 Kakogawacho, Kakogawa, Hyogo 675-0066

Phone: 079-424-4318

Kakurin-ji Temple

Address: Kitazaike-424 Kakogawacho, Kakogawa, Hyogo 675-0031

Phone: 079-454-7053

Shomyo-ji Temple

Address: Honmachi-313 Kakogawacho, Kakogawa, Hyogo 675-0037

Phone: 079-422-2262

Kakogawa Plaza Hotel

Address: Mizonokuchi−800 Kakogawacho, Kakogawa, Hyogo 675-0064

Phone: 079-421-8877

Kako River Ferry Port

Address: Kakogawa, Hyogo 675-0037

Kakogawa Bridge

Address: Yonedacho, Kakogawa, Hyogo 675-0053

Trees In the Town

 

Virtual Kako County Saigoku 33 Kannon Pilgrimage #9 Kannon-ji Temple

 

     Little is known about Kannon-ji Temple, the 9th site of the Kako County 33 Kannon Pilgrimage, except that it was once located in present-day Yoshino, Noguchicho, Kakogawa, Hyogo (675-0017).

     It remains uncertain when the Kannon-do hall was built, or whether it originally stood in Tennoji Village or Hosoda Village—both of which were located in Kako County, Harima Province. Historical records first mention Hosoda Village in 1515 and Tennoji Village in 1603. Judging from old descriptions, Hosoda Village occupied the western part of today's Yoshino area, while Tennoji Village occupied the eastern part. In 1867, Tennoji and Hosoda Villages merged to form Yoshino Village.

     Today, the Yoshino Community Center sits in the western half of the Yoshino area, accompanied by a cemetery, a stone stupa, and a small hall. Meanwhile, the Yoshinonakaike Cemetery is located in the eastern half and also features a small hall. Some local accounts suggest that the hall near the community center is called "Yoshino Kannon-do," which might be the last remaining vestige of Kannon-ji Temple. However, there is a minor possibility that the hall within the Yoshinonakaike Cemetery is the actual site. Furthermore, it is also plausible that Kannon-ji Temple originally functioned as a shrine-temple (jingu-ji) for either Hachiman Shrine or Otoshi Shrine.

Yoshinonakaike Cemetery

Address: Yoshino-955 Noguchicho, Kakogawa, Hyogo 675-0017

Yoshino Stone Stupa

Address: Yoshino-1027 Noguchicho, Kakogawa, Hyogo 675-0017

Yoshino Community Center

Address: Yoshino Noguchicho, Kakogawa, Hyogo 675-0017

Hachiman Shrine

Address: Yoshino-1011 Noguchicho, Kakogawa, Hyogo 675-0017

Otoshi Shrine

Address: Yoshino-706 Noguchicho, Kakogawa, Hyogo 675-0017

Trees In the Town

 

Virtual Kako County Saigoku 33 Kannon Pilgrimage #8 Kakurin-ji Temple

 

     The Korean monk Huibyeon, who came to Japan in the latter half of the 6th century, fled persecution from the Mononobe Clan and other anti-Buddhist factions and hid in Harima Province. Prince Shotoku (574–622) admired Huibyeon and visited the province to receive his teachings.

     Later, Prince Shotoku ordered Hata Kawakatsu—who is believed to have lived from the late 6th century to the early 7th century—to construct a three-by-four-bay hermitage. It was later named Toda-san Shitenno-ji Shorei-in, which is said to be the origin of Kakurin-ji Temple.

     In 718, Mutobe Harunori, the chief magistrate of Musashi Province, built a full temple complex to honor the virtues of the Prince. Furthermore, in the early 9th century, the monk Ennin (794–864) stopped by on his journey to Tang China and carved a statue of Bhaisajyaguru (Yakushi Nyorai) to pray for national peace and security.

     Within present-day Kakogawa City, there once existed several temples sharing the same layout as Horyu-ji Temple: the Saijo Abandoned Temple (late 7th to 9th century), the Ishimori Abandoned Temple (early 8th to 9th century)—believed to have been located at the foot of Mount Hioka—and the Nakanishi Abandoned Temple (late 7th to 9th century). All of these demonstrate the regional spread of Horyu-ji culture.

     However, all of these neighboring temples ceased to exist in the 9th century, likely destroyed by the Great Harima Earthquake. This massive earthquake struck on July 8th, 868, with an estimated magnitude of approximately 7.0. Centered near present-day Himeji City, Hyogo Prefecture, it is believed to have been caused by activity along the Yamazaki Fault. The disaster collapsed provincial and county government offices as well as temple buildings, with its tremors even damaging structures in the capital of Heian-kyo.

     In 1112, Emperor Toba (1103–1156) bestowed an imperial plaque upon the temple, after which its name was officially changed to Kakurin-ji.

     During the medieval period, with the surging popularity of the Prince Shotoku cult (Taishi Shinko), Kakurin-ji Temple enjoyed its golden age. It boasted over 30 temple buildings, a vast territory yielding 25,000 koku, and dozens of musicians who regularly performed ritual music and dance.

     Ever since the compilation of the Nihon Shoki (Chronicles of Japan), Prince Shotoku had been depicted as a figure with superhuman abilities, becoming an object of deep reverence that evolved into a widespread faith over time. Historically, Horyu-ji and Shitenno-ji Temples were consistently recognized as having been founded by the Prince. As the worship of the Prince gained significant momentum during the Heian period (794–1185), these two foundational temples vied to be the center of the faith, consciously influencing each other and amplifying the legends to strengthen their own legitimacy. Thanks to their competitive efforts, the worship of Prince Shotoku reached its peak in 1322, marking the 700th anniversary of his death, which heavily benefited affiliated temples like Kakurin-ji.

     However, during the Sengoku (Warring States) period (1467–1568), Kakurin-ji Temple was forced into decline. Later, under the strict religious policies of the Tokugawa Shogunate, the once-mighty complex was reduced to an ordinary parish temple.

Address: Kitazaike-424 Kakogawacho, Kakogawa, Hyogo 675-0031

Phone: 079-454-7053

Saijo Abandoned Temple Site

Address: 2 Chome-28 Saijoyamate, Kakogawa, Hyogo 675-0001

Hiokayama Observation Platform

Address: Ono-1754-2 Kakogawacho, Kakogawa, Hyogo 675-0061

Nakanishi Abandoned Temple Site

Address: Nakanishi Nishikankicho, Kakogawa, Hyogo 675-0043

Horyu-ji Temple

Address: 1-1-1 Horyuji Sannai, Ikaruga, Ikoma District, Nara 636-0115

Phone: 0745-75-2555

Shitenno-ji Temple

Address: 1 Chome-11-18 Shitennoji, Tennoji Ward, Osaka, 543-0051

Phone: 06-677-10066

Trees In the Town

 

Virtual Kako County Saigoku 33 Kannon Pilgrimage #7 Senpuku-ji Temple

 

     It is unknown exactly when Senpuku-ji Temple was founded in Imafuku Village, Kako County, Harima Province. Although the village itself first appears in historical records in the Keicho Kuniezu (the Map of Provinces in the Keicho Era) of 1611, physical evidence suggests a much older origin.

     Within the temple precincts stands a Gorinto (a five-ring pagoda) inscribed with a date corresponding to February 25th, 1353. This strongly indicates that the temple, or at least a sacred site, already existed by the mid-14th century.

     The inscription on the pagoda reads: "On the 25th day of the second month, the second year of Bunwa (1353), respectfully dedicated by the Ikketshu."

     The term "Ikketshu" refers to a bound collective or a localized league of people. It carries the nuance of a community uniting to form a cooperative front, often in response to external pressures or ruling authorities. Intriguingly, by using the "Bunwa" era name, this group explicitly aligned themselves with the Northern Court.

     During this tumultuous period, the samurai guardian (provincial protector) of Harima Province was Akamatsu Norisuke (1314–1372). Norisuke had briefly defected to the Southern Court in 1351 before returning to the Northern Court the following year. Given this volatile political climate, it remains uncertain whether the samurai guardian and the local Ikketshu were entirely aligned when the pagoda was erected. Notably, when the Gorinto was relocated in 1935, cremation urns were discovered beneath it, reinforcing its role as a communal memorial. Presumably, this reflects the Ikketsushu's attempt to seal a sacred bone-pledge alliance.

     Around this time, Norisuke began constructing Kinoyama Castle on Mount Kinoyama as a natural stronghold for the Akamatsu Clan. Although this predated the Sengoku (Warring States) period by more than a century, it shows a clear anticipation of protracted warfare. In response to this rising local militarization, the Ikketshu of Imafuku may have felt a similar, urgent need to bind themselves together for mutual survival and spiritual protection.

Address: Imafuku−376 Onoecho, Kakogawa, Hyogo 675-0027

Phone: 079-422-0302

Kinoyama Castle ruins

Address: Shingucho Shimonoda, Tatsuno, Hyogo 679-4333

Mount Kinoyama

Address: Issaicho Nakagaichi, Tatsuno, Hyogo 679-4002

Trees In the Town

 

Virtual Kako County Saigoku 33 Kannon Pilgrimage #6 Fukurin-ji Temple

 

     It remains unknown exactly when Fukurin-ji Temple was founded in Bingo Village, within the Kako County of Harima Province. The earliest surviving written record that mentions both the village and the temple together dates back to 1515. However, within the temple's precincts stands a Gorinto (a Buddhist five-ring pagoda) inscribed with the date February 18th, 1363. This physical evidence strongly suggests that the temple already existed by the mid-14th century.

     The inscription on the pagoda reads: "For the sake of the entire cosmic realm and the equal spiritual benefit of all sentient beings, on the 18th day of the second month of the second year of Joji (1363), by the Ikketshu (the assembled group), respectfully submitted."

     The phrase "Ikketshu" carries a nuance of people banding together, often implying a united front formed in opposition to an external force, particularly a ruling authority. Intriguingly, because this group utilized the era name Joji, they clearly belonged to the Northern Court side. During this period, the Samurai Guardian (military governor) of Harima Province was Akamatsu Norisuke (1314–1372). Although Norisuke had briefly transferred his allegiance to the Southern Court side in 1351, he returned to the Northern Court side the following year. Therefore, by 1363, both the provincial Samurai Guardian and the local Ikketshu were aligned with the same side.

     Read in this light, contemporary documents indicate that Harima Province was plagued by disputes over manor (shoen) ownership around 1363. This historical context allows us to infer that despite sharing a nominal alignment under the same court's era name, sharp friction and underlying tensions over land and local autonomy persisted between the Samurai Guardian and the local community.

Address: 218 Kakogawacho, Kakogawa, Hyogo 675-0032

Phone: 079-421-7718

Trees In the Town

 

Sarashina Diary: Retold in the present tense (4)

 

Towards the end of April, I temporarily move to Higashiyama for a certain reason. On the way, the nursery beds for rice plants fill with water, and the fields newly planted with rice seedlings look all rather green and charming. In the evening, the mountains look dark and closer. Rails chatter noisily on such lonely evenings.

Do the water rails cackle,

As if knocking at the door to deceive,

Thinking that no one would dare venture

Into the deep mountains at dusk?

As our temporary dwelling is near Reizan-ji Temple, I go there to pray. Fatigued, I drink water from a stone-lined well in the mountain temple, scooping the water with my hand.

Another visitor says, "I could never have enough of this water."

As once Ki Tsurayuki (866–945) composes:

Before I could drink my fill,

The water scooped by my hands

Grew cloudy from a single drop—

Must we, too, part so soon in sorrow?

I decline the visitor's advance:

Do you truly believe

You can drink your fill from this mountain well,

Without causing a single drop

Of troubling cloudiness between us?

He further approaches:

Even if the mountain well

Grows cloudy from a single drop,

I would still choose to stay

And keep drinking from the spring right here.

We come home from the temple in the full brightness of evening sunshine, and enjoy a clear view of Kyoto.

The man who talked about a drop and the cloudy water goes back to Kyoto, sorry for parting from me. In the next morning, he sends a tanka poem:

As the evening sun sinks low

And the eastern mountains fade to dark,

I helplessly gaze back toward the peaks,

Longing for the place where you abide.

I hear the holy voices of the monks reciting sutras in their morning service and I open the door. It is dim early dawn and mist veils the treetops of the dark forest. The forest looks thicker than in the time of flowers or red leaves. It is slightly cloudy this lovely morning. Cuckoos are singing on the nearby trees:

I yearn for someone by my side

To behold this breathtaking dawn

In the quiet mountain village,

And listen to the cuckoo’s echoing call.

At the end of that month, cuckoos sing clamorously on trees towards the glen:

While the one in Kyoto

Anxiously awaits the cuckoo’s first song,

Here the birds sing with careless abandon

From the break of dawn until the dead of night.

One who stays with me says: "Do you have someone in Kyoto who you want to listen to cuckoos with now? Do you have someone who you want to see the mountains with now?" She composes:

Many in the capital may gaze at the moon,

But is there anyone who casts a thought

To these deep, forgotten mountains,

Or remembers us hidden away from the world?

I reply:

I know not how the moon appears

To those who watch it in the capital at night,

But surely the moonlight must shine

Upon this lonely mountain village first of all.

Once, towards dawn, I hear footsteps which sound to be those of many people coming down the mountain. I am frightened and look out. It is a herd of deer which come close to our veranda. They cry out. It is not pleasant to hear them cry nearby:

If only I heard the lonely cry

Of a deer calling for its mate

Upon the distant hills on an autumn night—

How much sweeter that melody would sound.

I hear that a certain man has come near my temporary dwelling and gone back without calling on me. So I make a sarcastic tanka poem:

Even the wind that passes

Through the pine trees on the mountain—

Though it knows me not at all—

At least leaves with a whispering sigh!

August has come, and more than 20 days have passed. The moon shines towards dawn and looks very charming. The mountainside is gloomy, and the waterfall sounds very refined. I see them quietly and calmly:

I wish that lovers of nature could see

The waning moon at dawn in a mountain village

At the very close

Of a melancholy autumn night.

I pack up our temporary dwelling to return to Kyoto. In the rice fields which were covered with water when I came here, rice plants are all harvested:

So long have I remained away from home—

Since the nursed rice seedlings in the beds

Were planted, grew,

And now have all been harvested.

When the end of October is approaching, I visit our old temporary dwelling again. The leaves of thickly grown trees which cast a dark shade in the garden have all fallen. The sight is sorrowful all over. The babbling brook which used to run sweetly is buried under fallen leaves, and I can see only the course of it:

Even the clear water cannot live on

In such lonesome, stormy mountains;

Like the drifted, fallen leaves,

My heart is also scattered and lost.

When I head back to Kyoto, I say to the neighbor nun that I shall come again the next spring if I can live so long, and beg her to send word when the flowering time comes.

The new year comes, and it is past March 19th, but she completely ghosts me, leaving me with radio silence. So I write to her:

No word has come of the blooming cherry blossoms.

Has spring not yet arrived for you,

Or does the perfume of the flowers

Fail to reach your distant home?

I set out with a heavy heart, arriving at a lonely lodging. My new room is beside a bamboo wood. The wind rustles its leaves, and the full moon disturbs my sleep:

Night after night, the bamboo leaves sigh;

My fragile dreams are broken,

And a vague, indefinite sadness

Slowly fills my waking heart.

In Autumn, 1026, I'm forced to move on from that place to stay at yet another location, and send a tanka poem to the previous hostess:

I am like the fleeting dew upon the grass;

It matters little where that dew may fall,

For to my grieving eyes,

Every place alike looks like a wasteland.

My stepmother still calls herself Lady Kazusa, clinging to her status as the former wife of the Governor of Kazusa Province, even though she now has a new husband visiting her home. My father feels compelled to tell her that such pretension is no longer appropriate. Alluding to the famous poem by Emperor Tenji (626–672) about the rustic palace of Asakura, he sends her a reply:

The rustic palace of Asakura is now a cloud-veiled memory,

Yet like a guard blaring his name into the night,

Why do you still loudly proclaim that faded title of yours,

Long after its proper season has passed away?

Worrying about these tedious, rambling family chores is all I do. The few pilgrimages I make fail to turn my mind toward the religious devotion expected of an ordinary person. Many ordinary girls these days start reciting sutras or engaging in serious practices by the age of seventeen or eighteen, but I cannot even imagine doing so. My mind is filled with nothing but fantasies: I yearn for a noble, handsome man like the Shining Prince Genji to visit me, even if only once a year. Like Princess Ukifune, could I be hidden away in some secluded countryside, gazing at blossoms, autumn leaves, the moon, and snow? Could I pass the days waiting for beautifully written love letters, steeped in a world of romantic loneliness and helplessness? That is the only future I envision for myself. I tell myself that if my father could only win a prestigious post, I might also enter into a much nobler lifestyle. Such unreliable, idle hopes occupy my daily thoughts.

At last, my father is barely appointed Governor of Hitachi Province—a post located in the remote East. He does nothing but complain, saying:

“I always thought that if I could secure a governorship near Kyoto, I could finally take care of you to my heart's content. I wanted to bring you along to see the beautiful scenery of the sea and mountains, and I wished for you to live a life of comfort, attended by servants far beyond our current modest status. It seems the karma from past lives is poor—not just mine, but yours as well, which is why we are in this mess. To think that after waiting for so long, I must go to such a distant province! When you were a small child, I took you with me to Kazusa Province. Back then, even a slight illness made me terrified that if I died, you would be left to wander helpless in that remote land. A strange province is full of dangers; I would have traveled with a lighter heart had I been alone. Because I dragged my entire family with me, I could neither speak nor act as I wished, and I always worried that you felt miserable. Now you are grown. If I were to take you to Hitachi, I cannot be certain I would live long enough to bring you back to Kyoto.

“It is difficult enough to be fatherless in the capital, but the most wretched fate of all would be to end up stranded in the eastern provinces as a mere country woman. We have no reliable relatives in Kyoto to look after you, yet I cannot turn down this appointment after such a long wait. Ultimately, you must remain here while I depart for a long, uncertain journey. Oh, how on earth am I to ensure you can live in Kyoto with any shred of decency?”

Night and day, he laments, saying this and that. I can no longer care about flowers or red leaves, grieving sadly, but there is no help for it.

He goes down to his post on July 13th, 1032. For five days before he leaves, he can hardly visit my room, for he finds it too painful to see me in such a panic.

On that day, everything is in a state of utter confusion. When the time for parting comes, I lift the blind and my eyes meet his. My tears drop down. Soon, he leaves. My eyes are dim with tears and I throw myself down on the floor. A servant, who has gone to see him off, returns with a tanka poem written on a piece of paper napkin:

Were I but blessed with higher rank and state,

I should not have to face this cruel fate,

Nor ever know, in autumn of my years,

This sad departure, blinding me with tears.

My tears cloud my eyes, making it hard to read the poem to the end. In happier times, I have often composed halting tanka poems, but I have no idea what to say in such grief:

Never, in all my thoughts, did I foresee

A time when we would thus divided be;

To part from you, my father, in this world,

Leaves my young heart into the darkness hurled.

Without my father, few people visit our home. I am very lonely and forlorn, musing and guessing where he might be at every moment. As I know the route he is taking, I find myself missing him so deeply and feeling so utterly helpless. To think I used to take my father’s presence for granted—now, from morning until evening, I stay looking towards the skyline of the eastern mountains.