The ground is soft and slow to drain from the previous day's shower. It seems to be under progress of some development and is sandy until the land ascends into mountains. I am light on my feet, bounding and springing lithely across the terrain. There is evidence of other creatures that frequent the area. Deer and other larger canine. I discover their scat and follow their tracks till we reach the foot of the mountain. The substrate is more reliable here so together we clamber upwards. There are plenty of brambles to make us wary and a clean stillness in the air, similar to the heavens before it snows. My lady pauses at a polished stone protruding from the ground. I give it no notice and gallivant up and over the numerous moguls dotted across the landscape. Her eyes widen a bit as she mutters, "graves". I'm guessing the ancestors have been here numerous years since the inscribed characters are Chinese, but this is of course speculation. At some places there were two mounds for one headstone. How is it that I frequently find myself amongst graves? In nearly every city I visit I too visit their dead. Morbid or tradition?
Galloping ahead I spot my middle namesake, a tall and sleek Bambi. Pleased to see something living I approach the dear deer but she seems to be late for something important and darts away. My lady, not aware of our co-hiker, stands in the path of the tardy deer and they jump side to side not knowing where the other intends to go. Finally they both commit to opposite directions and bypass the other. Everyone knows one goes right in this instance, unless you are from a different culture, in that case it's up for interpretation.
Now that the air is still again white specks appear and flit around our heads. We begin the decent downward toward an easier gradient. While we trek back to the hole in the fence I look over my shoulder the place we left and see animals taking flight from the underbrush. A large grouse followed by a raptor of sorts fled together along with some miniature burrowing field birds. As I turn back around to see 'round the bend in the path, a man seems to emerge from nowhere. He is stoic and out of place wearing only a baseball cap and a collard shirt..with no pants. Ha! It is a makeshift scarecrow left in an overgrown and frozen garden. Good ol' chap, he'll never desert his post.
We see the broken fence from where we came and an old lady smiles as we approach it. She gestures to the snow and then to the fence, as if to invite us home after a cold day. While making our way back the obvious stairs that are said to wind up to the temple make themselves stand out as if to taunt our efforts. Next time temple, mark my words, I will mark you.
