I ascend the stone steps from the road, along which sports cars covered in protective nylon are parked. The approach to Honenji is paved in cobblestone. On the ridge above is a Buddhist cemetery. I can see the gardener moving among the memorial markers. The winter day is warm.
Sunlight graces the pines.
There is a kind of Zen meditation that is done while walking. Every step is intentional. I feel I have stepped into this zone in which my walking is all that there is. I come and go as a thought, a memory, a snatch of song. I want to see this altar, which is all I know about Honenji.