(June 8) Eighth, climbed Gassan, Yushime hanging from our necks, heads covered by hokan, led by a goriki, up into the mountain air, clouds, mist, walking ice and snow, going some eight li up until it seemed near the gateway to the clouds, sun and moon passing over, each breath a last one, numb, reached peak, sun down, moon out. Spread bamboo grass, used shino as pillows, lay down, waited for daybreak. Sun up, clouds gone, headed down towards Yudono.

At valley's edge place known as Swordsmiths' Hut. Smiths in these parts fetch holy water here to purify themselves and to temper blades in which they eventually carve: Gassan: a mark of wide repute. Said that swords were tempered at the Ryusen too. Reminiscent of ancient Kansho and Bakuya. That their dedication to their craft not superficial, well known. Perched on rock resting a while, saw half-opened buds of three-foot cherry trees. Buried under piled-up reluctant snow, slow blossoms dont forget spring, remarkable stubbornness. As if the "plum under blazing heaven" were suddenly seen here. Recalled Gyoson Sojo's poem, which made buds seem to bud the more. By and large against code to disclose what goes on here. And with that the brush stops, wont write. Went back to dormitory and at the Ajari's insistance wrote poems of our visit to the Three Mountains on tanzaku.

cool ah
faint crescent's
Haguro-san

cloud's peaks
how many collapsing
moon's mountain

prohibited speech
at Yudono wetting
my sleeve

Yudono-yama
penny stepping-stones
and tears
(Sora)