Arashiyama Rangetsu: Living in the Rainy Night of Arashiyama Ten Years Ago Leaving Osaka early, it rained yesterday, so I canceled the trip to Nara. Just like the first time I came to Kyoto,

Arashiyama Rangetsu: Living in the Rainy Night of Arashiyama Ten Years Ago Leaving Osaka early, it rained yesterday, so I canceled the trip to Nara. Just like the first time I came to Kyoto, I walked alone into the rainy Arashiyama. For ten years, the melodies of Misa Jōnouchi and Warewaregaku still linger softly in my ears, and this Arashiyama seems unchanged through the ages: the flowing waters of the Hozu River, the lattice windows of Yūsai-tei, the bamboo grove of Nonomiya, the withered lotus of Ogura Pond, the old gate of Enryian, the maple path of Nison-in, the blue moss of Gio-ji, the stone statues of Atago Nenbutsu-ji... As usual, I would pass through that tunnel full of urban legends, turn back at the clear waterfall stream, and walk straight to Kōzan-ji or Gatsurin-ji; if hiking in the opposite direction, my favorite Saihō-ji, Kegon-ji, and Jizō-in are not far either. Today, I got up early and stayed for a long time in front of the Sanmon gate of Tenryū-ji, watching the changing mountain mist, only to realize I had no cash on me. Perhaps also because of getting older, after walking the entire Atago Ancient Road, I returned the same way. Unlike the rural scenery of Ōhara, the secluded shrines of Kibune, or the secret mountain waters of Takao, whether you stroll like an ordinary tourist or stay deeply to create like Taijirō, walking on the Atago Ancient Road fills you with energy. Today I am staying at Rangetsu. With Benkei under major renovation, Hoshinoya hard to book, Suiran’s Western-style rooms simple, and Togetsu-tei refusing solo travelers, after looking around, I came back to Rangetsu. Going up the grand iconic slope, the inn’s elegant Japanese garden and river view refresh the mind. The traditional room I stayed in has a small courtyard in front and back for living and bathing views. This time the nakai (attendant) is a young girl whose English is even worse than the one ten years ago, but fortunately, technology is more advanced now, and we communicated using a translator device. The most beautiful moments in Arashiyama are in the early morning and rainy nights. Wearing a haori, I walked to Togetsu Bridge; the empty streets, dim lights, dark river surface, and fine rain made the whole Arashiyama seem mine alone. There is no better time to enjoy solitude. But people are not born to enjoy solitude. If that wound is no longer touched, whether escaping or numbing, time will fade it away. In the trilogy, writing about two people meeting in Arashiyama, parting at Kiyomizu, and growing old at Takamine is actually memory automatically altering, extending this tragedy for a lifetime. A thousand mountains in a midday dream, a shadowed window with a single arrow, mixed feelings remain, leaving only a silent sigh. Across the river, people are in the sound of rain, the evening wind stirs the autumn grievances in the reed leaves.