Oh God, not another beautiful fucking sunrise over a quaint Japanese fishing village.
Jorō spiders (Nephila clavata) weave a marvelously strong silk that glows golden in the sun. They tend to die off in late autumn but this lone female was in apparently robust health in the bush by the side of Route 26, which snaked along the hills above the ocean and into the harbor of Yuki. Jorō are very spidery-looking spiders but they’re completely harmless — unless you’re smaller than they are, that is.
You can now get a Lapin in this radiant yellow, with white rims…and it’s a Lapin Chocolat…and its logo is a bar of partially eaten chocolate embossed with a rabbit…and I’m head over heels in love. Someone in Yuki is definitely living the Chocolat style of life.
These crabs are up to no good.
On the switchbacks above Kiki, we saw the sea for the last time, and we saw the warm subtropical glow of the sun for the last time. Across a low pass, we dipped into the forest, and into the interior of the island, which grew wilder with every footstep.
The geography of “Roads Out of Time”, Alan Booth’s account of his 1983 walk across the mountains of Shikoku, can be ambiguous in places, and when we came to a fork in the road on our way towards the Naka River, we intuitively chose the road which appeared to be less traveled. The asphalt soon petered out and turned into a footpath, which in turn petered out and turned into nothing, and soon we were picking our way between the cedars in a narrow, steep valley. It was not a road Booth would have walked on, but when we climbed out of the valley and stood on a rail-narrow ridge at last, the forested hills of southeastern Shikoku lay ahead of us, glowing golden in the winter dusk.
Is a branch of plum’s
Still the snows lie deep
Outside my window this dawn.
— Jakuren (1139–1202)