The Green Chapel

My small backpack was stocked with two bottles of green tea, three bundles of rice and nori, one packet of matcha-flavored "American Soft" chocolate chip cookies, five maps of Nikko and my camera; I was prepared. All of last week I promised to reward my hard work at school with a weekend day trip to Nikko, a historic town located in western Tochigi. I kept a map of Nikko stuck between two English textbooks in the bookshelf above my desk, for the purpose of stealing peeks throughout the workday at the hiking routes that wind up into the mountains. And though on Sunday morning lounging on my futon until noon sounded quite nice, I forced myself to get up and cruise my bike down to JR Station to catch the 9:38 Nikko train.
It's not a long train ride up to Nikko, maybe 45 minutes of rocking through the verdant rice fields, the air growing milkier with mist the closer Nikko becomes. From the train station, it wasn't difficult to follow the other tourists meandering up to the shrine district, which is world-famous and the main draw for nearly all visitors to Nikko. After pausing to admire the ancient red foot bridge that marks the unofficial gateway to the shrines, I walked past all the fanny-packed Europeans and found my way (after becoming lost several times) to a trailhead. I'm sure the shrines are magnificent, and I intend to visit them at some point, but my mission on Sunday was to enjoy a nice walk in the woods. I followed the trail as it wound gently up into Nikko National Park, passing through a forest thick with ancient trees and lichen-painted stone Buddas. There were several other tourists on the path, but the further away from the Shrine District I climbed, the fewer voices joined the undying pulse of cicadas, until eventually the edges of the path became swallowed by tall grass, and I found myself quite alone with the trees.
For a moment I was lost, the path having disappeared behind me, and then I came upon it: a still and velvety cove of moss. The shoulder-high grass I had been pushing through fell back to reveal an arboreal sanctuary within the forest, a clustering of stones and fallen trees, all blanketed in a gentle mantle of moss. Awed by the beauty of it, I let out a vocal sigh, and startled myself at the sound of my own voice, which was quickly swallowed up in the mossy acoustics. I feared at first treading upon the delicate little plants, though quickly overcame my hesitation and stepped into the perfect scene as if entering a storybook illustration. And like a character in a book, I settled down on a moist and fuzzy boulder and sat admiring the life about me until I though I might burst from the joy of it.
Finding my way back wasn't difficult; after pulling myself away from the mystical spectacle, I found the main road quite easily, and followed it to the shrines. I made my route back to the train station skirting along the edge of the popular grouping of buildings, and noted the elegant eaves of red lacquer and gold, the elaborate carvings, the painted statues.
The famous shrines and temples of Nikko are, indeed, quite lovely. But there is another temple in Nikko, not so far from the edge of town. There are no golden eaves or statues, no walls or scrolls to speak of. Only a thick and inviting carpet, renewing each day a celebration of the subtler beauty which surrounds us.