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Rh In the domain of Yamagata is a mountain temple called the Ryūshaku, a place noted for its tranquillity. People had urged us “just to take a look,” and we had turned back at Obanasawa to make the journey, a distance of about fifteen miles. It was still daylight when we arrived. After asking a priest at the foot of the mountain for permission to spend the night, we climbed to the temple at the summit. Boulders piled on rocks had made this mountain, and old pines and cedars grew on its slopes. The earth and stones were worn and slippery with moss. At the summit the doors of the hall were all shut, and not a sound could be heard. Circling around the cliffs and crawling among the rocks we reached the main temple. In the splendor of the scene and the silence I felt a wonderful peace penetrate my heart.

After having seen so many splendid views of both land and sea, my heart was stirred by the thought of Kisagata. From the port of Sakata we journeyed to the northeast, climbing over hills, following along the shore, and plodding through the sand, a distance of about twenty miles in all. As the sun was sinking in the sky, a breeze from the sea stirred up the sand, and a misty rain started to fall, hiding Chōkai Mountain. We groped ahead in the darkness. I felt sure that if Kisagata were exquisite in the rain, it would prove no less wonderful when it cleared. We squeezed into a fisherman’s thatch-covered hut, and waited for the rain to stop.

The next morning the weather cleared beautifully. When the morning sun rose in all its splendor, we took a boat on the lagoon of Kisagata. We put in first at Nōin Island, where we visited the remains of the hut where Nōin lived in seclusion for three years. On the opposite shore, when we landed from our boat, we saw an old cherry tree, which stands as a memento of Saigyō, who wrote of it: