star festival -- children's

osanara no

kasari kaketaru

hitomoto no

sasa ni tusure naki

tanabata no ame

star festival — children’s

wishes on colored paper 

tied to bamboo trees —

sadly rain prevents star-crossed 

lovers their one chance to meet 

When I was in Japan last month, my hostess, Goto-sensei, kindly gave me her sumi-e (ink wash painting) of a tanka (five-line poem with 5-7-5-7-7 syllables) written in her graceful sosho, (cursive shodo or calligraphy) about the Star Festival. Together we translated the waka (poem) into English. Goto-sensei did not know who the author of this particular poem was. Man'yoshu, the oldest existing book of poetry, contains many poems about the legend behind the Star Festival, and Kaknomoto no Hitomaro wrote 137 poems about Tanabata.

Tanabata, the Star Festival, is one of five traditional seasonal festivals, or gosekku. It is celebrated all over Japan on the evening of 7 July. The festival traces its origins to a legend about the stars Vega and Altair in the constellations Lyra and Aquila, respectively. According to the ancient Chinese legend, Hikoboshi (Altair), the cowherd star, and Orihime (Vega), the weaver star, lovers separated by the Milky Way, are allowed to meet just once a year — on the seventh day of the seventh month.

According to the folktale, Orihime, a gifted weaver, the daughter of Tentei, the king of the sky, wove beautiful cloth into clouds on the bank of Amanogawa, the heavenly river. She worked hard to please her father, but she was sad that she could never meet anyone to marry. 

One day Tentei allowed her to have a day off. Wandering along the heavenly river, she saw Hikoboshi, a cow herder who lived on the other side of the Amanogawa. His cows provided the milk for the Milky Way. They met on the only bridge crossing the river and immediately fell in love and got married. They were so in love that Orihime stopped weaving and Hikoboshi allowed his cows to wander all over heaven. Tentei became angry, destroyed the bridge and forbade them to meet. 

Despondent at the loss of her beloved, Orihime wept all day. Moved by her tears, her father agreed to let them meet once a year on the seventh day of the seventh month (seven being a lucky number), as long as they both worked hard during the rest of the year. 

Of course, the first time they tried to meet, they could not cross over because there was no bridge. Orihime cried so much that a flock of magpies agreed to make a bridge with their wings so she could cross the river. Unfortunately, if it rains on 7 July, the river floods and the magpies cannot come, so the star-crossed lovers must wait another year to meet.

During the Star Festival, children and adults write their wishes on tanzaku, long, narrow strips of colored paper which represent the weaving of threads, and hang them on bamboo branches placed in the backyards or entrances of their homes. They then pray for good weather so that they can catch the reflection of the two stars in a tub of water, the sign that the two lovers will meet and their own wishes will come true.

full moon blurred by clouds

full moon blurred by clouds --

pilgrims bearing little lights

up Fuji-san's dark slopes

Awake at 2:30, perhaps the effect of the full moon floating like a blurry pearl between clouds. Fuji-san's dark cone, framed by the shoji frame, is draped with a string of lights winking on and off like fireflies. In Japan, fireflies are traditionally believed to be the souls of the dead. However, the source of these lights is very much alive -- hundreds of mountain climbers with headlamps, hiking the Yoshida Trail at night to reach the summit in time to see the sun rise. 
          At 4:30 I wake again, perhaps the effect of the sudden enlivenment of light as the sun peeks above the ocean horizon. Sensei's house sits on the sunset side of a small mountain above the village of Oshino, west of Fuji-san. The mountain at our backs blocks the sun until it is well up, but the lucky pilgrims who reached the top of Fuji-san will see the sun make its dramatic appearance as a red ball perching briefly in the magical gap between water and air.

curving back double

curving back double

diamond-back snake slides slowly

down the mossy stone

Walking down a shady little path to the Kamegawa, I almost step on a long stick lying by the river's edge. The stick moves, and I take a step back. It's a thin, brown snake with a diamond pattern, about a meter long. As I watch it move across a muddy inlet, a young Japanese girl comes down the path. "Hebi!" I say, happy that this happens to be one of the few words I know in Japanese. The girl stops as if struck. An older man comes down behind the girl and she gestures and chatters excitedly about hebi. The girl retreats but the man and I continue to watch the snake as it climbs up a moss-covered outcrop. At the top, it reaches one end, searches the empty air with its head, then doubles back along its length. At one point, as the body forms a long loop, the snake's head and tail are side by side. Then the head dips down the back side of the rocks and the tail obediently follows the entire path traced by the head until it too vanishes.
          When I show the photos to my Japanese friends, they tell me it's auspicious to see a snake. Curious as to what kind of snake it is, I find a website with photos of Japanese snakes. The one that looks the most like my snake is Iwasaki Sedaka Hebi (Pareas iwasakii), Iwasaki's slug snake. This seems a rather inappropriate name for such an elegant snake, which doesn't look like a slug at all.

molten rock frozen

molten rock frozen

in black waves -- water frozen

in crystal white foam

There's a whole Noh performance going on in this slab of black lava, masked singers chanting in a drone and dancing in highly stylized slow movements. Perhaps it is Shakkyo, Stone Bridge, or Shojo, the Tippling Elf, or Kumasaka, the Robber. Even the snow looks like a grimacing mask, melting to reveal the masked black demons. The transience of the snow contrasts with the ancient frozen flow of lava, yet even the adamant stone slowly yields to the softer elements of water and wind.

blades of sunlight pierce

blades of sunlight pierce

dark pines, carving snow into

fantastic sculptures

Snow piled alongside the road winding up the hill from the river to Sensei's house has been sculpted by the slanting rays of the sun into fanciful shapes. This one looks like a grinning gremlin carrying a gnome with a peaked white cap on his shoulders.

A chameleon perched on top of a white rock.

A white bear clasping a pine branch.

A man in a snowsuit with a shovel on his shoulder stands beside his snow sculpture of an enormous white owl. 

An old woman feeding her dogs.