What follows is my account, and some haiku written by the poets (an edited version of this appears at the official blog of the group, linked above).
Tanzan Shrine
Cloud shrouds the peaks
Above the plains of Asuka --
A lone kite circling
Richard
another step up
rising earth, interrupted -
span of silver thread
William
of a typhoon-damaged slope:
Mt. Katsuragi
wreathed in mist
Tito
Their route has taken them through the streets of Asuka from the minshuku where they had spent the previous night; into the foothills past locals growing their crops; and up among tall, straight trunks of cypress and cedar trees growing on the mountainside.
Field of golden rice
ready for harvesting---
Ancient village, unchanged
Kyoko
The entomologist -
showing us his bagged live specimens
in a dreary wood
Tito
the trees close in and
catch our voices - their reply
a soft mockery
William
the trees close in and
catch our voices - their reply
a soft mockery
William
They reach the shrine, a burst of Japanese architecture, as the festival's ritual is already underway. Removing their shoes, they shuffle quietly into one wide room—open at the back to a sunlit canopy—and join the spectators. Many elaborate displays of fruit and harvest are brought from within the shrine, passing from priest to priest, to the shrill accompaniment of traditional pipes. A glimpse is seen of the statue to the enshrined deity, Fujiwara no Kamatari, which the festival honours.
For another year
priest pulls the curtain down
on the clan divinity -
his long, plaintive wail
Tito
his long, plaintive wail
Tito
The shinto priest:
A single green pepper
Atop his chestnut offering
Richard
A single green pepper
Atop his chestnut offering
Richard
The festival complete, our pilgrims head back into the sun, retrieving lunch boxes from their backpacks.
tier upon tier,
the surrounding trees are touched
by its scarlet paint
William
the surrounding trees are touched
by its scarlet paint
William