The perfect weather for...

“It’s so huge!” my girlfriend exclaimed gripping the wooden bridge rail tightly.  Deep purple was slowly creeping up the edges of the pink sky as night came on casting the scenic area of Arashiyama in a cool evening light.  We stood along the edge letting people pass us by, garnering the occasional odd look.  ‘What are they doing, why are they stopped halfway across the bridge?’ were most likely what they were wondering.  I didn’t care.  I was enjoying myself  and the wide grin  plastered on my face let everyone know.

Just peeking over the mountains was a dinner-plate sized full moon rising quickly into the the cloudless sky and my girlfriend and I were both rooted to the spot, entranced by its simple beauty.  A cool breeze had come up as the sun set and we began to walk toward our destination to work out the chill.  Our goal was Diakakuji Temple and it’s annual Moon Festival.

It took us a while to find the place, glancing at roadside maps and asking locals, but we finally made it.  As we walked through the gates, paying our 500yen admission fee, the unmistakable sounds of a shinobue (Japanese bamboo flute) wafted over the murmur of the crowd to us.

For some reason I instantly became interested in finding out where it was coming from.  My question, however, was quickly answered as my girlfriend pulled back a low branch to reveal the source, a speaker.  I sighed.  No live music.

But, a few steps later my girlfriend suddenly cocked her head and said, “Wait, I think I hear something.“  She took a few more steps forward and like a dog catching a scent she grabbed my hand and pulled me forward.  “I think it’s coming from over here!“  Our walk quickened into a trot and on entering the main grounds we saw a series of flat table-like cloth covered benches arrayed before a stage.  On the stage sat two performers swaying slowly to the music they played.  One with a small traditional Japanese drum and the other with a shinobue.

We positioned ourselves in the back as all the benches were full and began to listen.  Unfortunately we had caught the song near the end but as it finished people stood to leave and we took their place, sitting down on the semi-comfortable hard surface.  After a brief explanation of their instruments the couple once again began to weave a song into the calm night air.

It began with the shinobue, a soft sound rising and falling, slowly outlining a picture of times long past.  Then suddenly the drums sharp and snappy thrum joined in adding color followed by the occasional interjection of earthy human growls like something out of kabuki theater.   The two danced back and forth spinning a story and lighting a path for my mind to follow.

I closed my eyes trying to think what it would have been like when this festival was held long ago.  Not under the electric lights in crowds of people who were soon to get in a car and drive home, but of a different time.  Flute and drum mixed together, holding my hand as I went further and further back.

I opened my eyes again.  The moon stood out stark white against the midnight blue sky, almost painfully bright to look at.  The last song had ended and a new one begun.  A new sound, a new journey.  The chill air of early Fall filled my lungs as I took a deep breath.  Around me the bright lights shone against the ancient wooden buildings casting harsh definitive shadows.

The people sat with their eyes transfixed on the stage, each lulled into another world by the hypnotic sound brought to them on the wind.  The fog of serenity had descended here only to be disturbed by the occasional cry of an unknowing baby or question of an innocent child.  These notes were old and carried with them a history that we could not truly know but could still feel in hearing them.

But then it was over.  The last note faded suddenly and the two before us stood, bowed, and walked off stage.  The fog dispersed and the hum of humanity began again.  As we listened the moon had traveled high into the sky and now sat staring down at us from its heavenly perch. Time had flowed like wind through the trees with only the rustle of  leaves to tell its passing.

We shook our heads slowly recovering from our stupor.  The moment was over but there was still much to be seen and experienced.

Only in Japan.