Japanaland 4.1
I landed in Narita, picked up my JR Pass, and hopped the shinkansen to Sendai before it was even dark. A lovely lady in red met me at the Matushima station.
We strolled over the tracks the next morning to go find a shrine and some foods.
Hands were clapped, great bells were rang, and the caves and graveyard at Zuiganji turned out to bear exploring.
though most of the really explorable bits were fenced off. :c
Off for a tour of the islands of Matsushima Bay! Of particular note among the many were the one rock with the one pine tree that Date Masamune named in a poem; the passage-riddled way that ensured a long life if only you kayak through one without sinking; and the Sitting Man. Kind of duckish.
The best was Fukurajima. This was not a rock merely to be seen from the deck of a morning cruise clouded with hungry seagulls. No. You walked to this island.
Walking over was the act of dropping into a trance. The bright red rails passed by, one after another after another, and it was easy to think I would never reach the other side, that I'd just keep crossing that bridge forever.
But soon enough:
It was all that pretty. Sometimes I just feel as if adding more of my own words will only spoil things. My photography selection is amateur enough, right? I'm not a poet, either.
This one is unremarkable now, two rocks in the sea. But before the earthquake it looked like this.
We strolled over the tracks the next morning to go find a shrine and some foods.
Hands were clapped, great bells were rang, and the caves and graveyard at Zuiganji turned out to bear exploring.
though most of the really explorable bits were fenced off. :c
Off for a tour of the islands of Matsushima Bay! Of particular note among the many were the one rock with the one pine tree that Date Masamune named in a poem; the passage-riddled way that ensured a long life if only you kayak through one without sinking; and the Sitting Man. Kind of duckish.
The best was Fukurajima. This was not a rock merely to be seen from the deck of a morning cruise clouded with hungry seagulls. No. You walked to this island.
Walking over was the act of dropping into a trance. The bright red rails passed by, one after another after another, and it was easy to think I would never reach the other side, that I'd just keep crossing that bridge forever.
But soon enough:
It was all that pretty. Sometimes I just feel as if adding more of my own words will only spoil things. My photography selection is amateur enough, right? I'm not a poet, either.
This one is unremarkable now, two rocks in the sea. But before the earthquake it looked like this.