Lying serenely on the banks of the Hozu River in the western suburbs of Kyoto, Arashiyama takes its name from "mountain mist," and indeed, a thin mist often lingers in the mornings, like a veil covering the face, adding a touch of mysterious beauty.
In spring, Arashiyama's waters shimmer beneath the Togetsukyo Bridge, where cherry blossoms shimmer in the water. A blanket of pink and white cherry blossoms hangs down, weighing down branches. Occasionally, petals drift onto the river, drifting eastward with the current, like a scene from a ukiyo-e painting come alive. Visitors row boats upstream or stroll along the shore, mesmerized by this fleeting beauty. The Sagano train whirrs through the mountains, its windows framing a moving painting.
In late autumn, a different atmosphere unfolds. The mountains transform from green to red, layer upon layer, a vibrant display. The stone steps of Jojakko-ji Temple, blanketed in crimson leaves, rustle as they step, like the earth's own sigh. The bamboo forest path is deep and secluded, the rustling of bamboo tips like crackling jade, and sunlight filtering through the gaps creates a dappled, shimmering scene. The tranquility of this place contrasts perfectly with the bustle of tourists not far away. Movement and stillness, noise and silence, coexist in remarkable harmony.
There are temples in the mountains, and within these temples are monks. In the dry landscape garden of Tenryu-ji Temple, one or two monks can often be seen sweeping fallen leaves with brooms, their movements slow and Zen-like. They sweep more than just leaves; they clearly sweep the grime of our hearts. Occasionally, the long, deep ring of a bell echoes from the Great Compassion Pavilion, startling a few jackdaws, which suddenly fly off into the distance.
Drifting down the Hozu River, the water is clear and shallow, and fish swim and flutter. The boatman, holding a bamboo pole, tells legends of mountain spirits and water monsters in a raspy yet intimate Kansai dialect. A teahouse stands on the shore, where an elderly woman kneels to serve tea. The bitter aroma of matcha blends with the sweetness of wagashi, evoking a sense of tranquility.
The beauty of Arashiyama lies not in its dramatic heights but in its tranquility; not in its bustle but in its serene stillness. The scenery changes with each season, but the beauty of its tranquility remains constant, inviting one to forget the worries of the world and simply wish to become a wisp of mist in the mountains, a leaf in the forest, living with nature.