HARVEST MOON

Saturday, to view the harvest moon we went to Hikone castle (the white sunlit pinpoint ENE across the Lake) where, as legend has it, Emperor Meiji stayed one night and for its special beauty decreed the castle be spared the fate of the many other castles throughout Japan that were being razed to end the samurai era.

Along the castle gate road, restored to the edo-style buildings of black wood and white clay as in the woodblock days, the shops offered such traditional goods as candles, pickles, fabrics, kampoyaku (herbal medicines), ceramics, sweets, stationery etc., with a coffee shop and a soft ice cream store to keep things up to par.

The road wandered on past lotus-filled moats and the house where Ii Naosuke, the 13th Daimyo (Lord) of Hikone, complained like any teenager of fossilizing while prepping for Daimyohood (couldn't be Daimyo till 35), studying philosophy, calligraphy, martial arts, poetry, zen, tea ceremony and flower arrangement, unlike world leaders of today.

At dusk we joined the surprisingly not-so-many folks who had come to hear the insect orchestra while watching the harvest moon rise over the magnificent pond in Genkyu-en (created in 1677), the castle's garden and guest villa, now a ryokan (what a place to stay!!).

With the night garden lit by paper lanterns and the pathways lined (or barred) with paper-sconced candles, folks with moonlight on their minds drifted toward their selected places on foot around the pond, across its bridges and over its islands (it is Lake Biwa in miniature) or by candle-lit boat across, there to sit sipping tea and conversing in low tones, gazing the while at the castle, itself looming like a moon in white rising on black wings, all waiting for the round bright face of the true harvest moon, the mood slowly subduing before the momentous event in this anciently magnificent yet unsung place out in the boonies only an hour and a half from 20 million people, sky like moonstone, and over all circling again and again the solitary crane with a squawk that sounded like "What are all these people doing in my place?"

Then with a fanfare of deepening silence the moon rose above the trees and fell in silver sparks upon the mirror of the pond rippled by shadows that were swans, as everyone gazed upward with an ancient shared respect until the garden closed at nine and the crane had it all to himself again as he and his ancestors have every night since 1677, with swans, frogs, insect songs and moon.