Brush the snow from my gloves and look up at the tower A winter walk at Chihaya Park in January

One January morning, I drove to the foot of Mount Kongo. I kept my eyes on the road and my hands on the wheel, then switched off the engine in the car park. From there on, I was on foot for the rest of the day. I pulled a winter jacket over my fleece and got my gloves and walking shoes ready. By the time I was ready, my mind had shifted from the drive to the walk ahead.

Walking from Fushimi Forest Road toward Chihaya Park, I could see my breath every time I exhaled. The crunch of my boots on the snow echoed briefly between the trees. Rather than rushing to get there, I wanted to enjoy each step of the climb. When I stopped along the way, the forest felt even quieter than it had while I was walking.

Then I caught sight of the observation tower beyond the branches. The staircases and landings rose one above another, with white handrails reaching into the snowy sky. I stopped on the path beneath it and brushed the snow from my gloves. I watched tiny grains fall away, then looked up at the tower and felt glad I’d walked all the way here.

I spent some time beneath the tower, looking at snow caught on the branches and the outline of the stairs. In summer, leaves would fill this forest; in winter, the lines of the trunks and branches stand out. I pulled my jacket sleeves down and caught my breath, already picturing the walk back. I want to remember what it felt like to walk all this way and see the snow for myself.

Back in the foothills, I’d like to pick up some of Chihaya’s mountain tofu as a souvenir. It’s made with water from Mount Kongo’s underground springs and domestically grown soybeans; I can make yudofu at home. Back at the car, I took off my gloves, set down my backpack, and caught my breath. For the drive home after a day on foot, I think I’ll choose a slow song.