Walking on Snow

The wind was cool and breezy. There’s a very cold air mass in place over the city. I remember I specially took care in wearing my warmest socks under my leather boots, which now feels as though I’m back in Hakodateyama, numbed on a February night. According to the news, I’m witnessing an aftermath of a snowstorm that hit Tokyo and recorded 22 centimeters of snow, the heaviest in two decades.

This was my first time in Tokyo and I arrived here by train from Hakodate. It was only a few days when I first saw snow. This one coupled with a steady drizzle is far from the powdery-white snow I was newly acquainted with. Most of the snow has melted and the streets are half deserted. The only indication that it snowed heavily yesterday was the huge piles of snow on the side of the footpath.

I was on my way to Kamakura. But instead of meeting eye to eye with the towering Daibutsu, I went the opposite way to Anyo-in Temple not to pray but to pay respects to a director I did not know personally but through his works, have moved and inspired me. As he himself has said, “There is nothing that says more about its creator than the work itself.” I’m talking about the master filmmaker, Akira Kurosawa.

When I reached the temple gate, the wooden door was shut; and I can’t help but imagine the opening scene of the film Rashomon with a long shot of a large decrepit gate and pouring rain. My own scene: an old wooden gate in extremely cold February weather, and wet snow. I called out to anyone but without a reply, there’s not much choice but to move around. I walked and found a back alley on the right side of the temple. After a few paces, I saw a few graves. I had never been happier to see graves. Seeing them means I am doing something right.

Anyo-in cemetery itself is small and easy to navigate. But with the presence of fresh but wet snow, the footpath is not visible. Footprints of those who came there before me were the only guides I have. I naturally followed those footsteps.

When I spotted the grave, it was filled with thick snow that Kurosawa Family name engraved in the gravestone was not visible. As my own little tribute, I decided to clean up the grave and remove the snow. My hands were chilly. And as I look at his grave and say a silent prayer, the glistening image of his final resting place, remain edged in my mind. Even here in this cold space, he continues to inspire not only me but countless of people touched by his life’s works. And I am forever grateful.