The man stopped.
In the silence of the mountain looked around. On the right the pine saliva zigzagging towards the summit, while up the valley, could see the peasants intent on sowing of paddy fields. From a distance came the heavy scent of the sea.
pulled his bag from his shoulders, took off his kabuto and laid them on the side of carareccia. A narrow steep dusty that ran along the side of Mount Hiei.
Leaning yari to support his fatigue, he seemed for a moment that his spirit would fly away, leaving an empty body as a monument in the middle of the road. In the darkness of his thoughts and eyes closed felt just the smell of the grass under the summer sun and the distant chirping of crickets.
When he opened them, turning to look at the sandals gray dust, noted that among the weeds and thistles, just away on board, was a milestone.
He sat there in the lotus position. The stone read "two thousand miles emotions." The arrow just below indicated that the distance was at the back, away towards the start.
A drop of sweat, dall'hachimachi broke free and slid slowly over the space of an hour-glass fell silent in the land, raising a tiny puff of dust. Looking at where it had fallen, as the maid noticed the signs of damp just left was perfectly round. Around it were formed small rings in the sand. He remembered Enso, the symbol of the monks: the perfect circle that represented the full vacuum.
Read as a quiver, looked right and left, hoping that someone or something from beyond the curves. The ruts of the wagon, suddenly seemed to dig scars in their souls.
The engraving on the stone was wrong.
It is said that at the end of the climb there was a small monastery. A habit of jute, cool in summer and warm in the winter, which when worn would bring peace of mind, the peace of mind, forgetfulness, purification.
If he repeated it in mind or in the practice of chanting nenbutsu.
The incision was definitely wrong.
Every step toward the top had to be lighter, freer heart. But he was not so sure, sitting in the dust and the sun. His throat was dry, his back aching and swollen legs. Even in battle he had felt that way.
A colorful butterfly danced in front of his face drawn.
- how beautiful! -
The memory had a sweet name and profile. Two eyes deep and calm, like the pleasant murmur of two vibrating lips are close to your ear during a starry night.
The iridescent butterfly continued its flight, disappearing between the trees.
The samurai stood up and resumed his burden, and with his foot rubbed the small sign in the dust.
He put the spear on his shoulder, and went down into the valley.
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