A hillside shrine under cedar shade. Footnotes of a village still whisper in the stone.

A long slant through pasture history. You learn the map that animals keep.

Stone mouths repeating old names. We carry a lamp and find ourselves.

The trail carries temple bells and cedar breath. At the summit, the sky feels near enough to greet.

Shepherd country and a summit with a clear reply. We walk steady and the day agrees.

A traditional path with generous views. We read its pages in our breath.

The day climbs gently to a sacred summit. Bells and wind keep company.