Cicadas shout in watchful shade. The mountain waits slumped in the seeping humidity. A redback spider weaves its web between two moss-covered stone lanterns.
She is there, carefully picking her way up the mountain, up the rough-hewn steps, as watchful of the spider as the spider is of her. Nearby, a river roars, the sulphur springs. Her feet ache, sweat rushing down its own waterfall.
Eyes clouded with onsen water. Age-speckled hands clutch at a walking stick and though she shakes, she continues her journey. This will be her last.
The cicadas’ dirge resumes.
Justine Russell 