In the fief of Yamagata there is a mountain temple called Ryushaku. Established by the Great Teacher Jikaku, it is situated in an area of great quiet and evident purity. Having been urged to visit it, we set out off our main course from Obanazawa, the distance being some fifteen miles. It was still afternoon when we arrived. Arranging with the priests for temple lodgings at the foot of the mountain, we ascended the slope to the temple proper. The mountain seemed to be built up of rocks upon boulders. The pines and oaks were manifestly old, and the very stones and earth, lying under their smooth shroud of moss, gave off an atmosphere of great age. The doors of the temple pavilion up there on the rocks were all barred. There was not so much as a sound. Coasting around the brink of the grounds, as if we were creeping over the stones, we paid a manner of worship at the temple, but it was the scenery that struck a stillness in our hearts, purifying them from worldly defilement.

In seclusion, silence.
Shrilling into the mountain boulder,
The cicada's rasp.