My Mother's Garden: Ascetic Discipline on the Mountain "The gray sky seemed to be enveloping us, as cold wet wind beat our exposed faces. Fumiko careened down the mountain ahead of me half flying, sometimes disappearing altogether around a curve in the path. Her eyes never seemed to glance down; it began to seem to me as if she were moving on the wind itself. As before, Fumiko stopped occasionally to allow me to catch up. I would arrive panting, out of breath, always more awkward in my negotiation of the slippery rocks, marveling aloud that Fumiko managed to make it look so easy. As we set off again after one of these catch-up stops, Fumiko began to reassure me that I too would learn how to walk on the mountain the way she did, without ever letting her feet rest on the ground for more than the slightest instant. She said, "The mountain will teach [you] through your body" (yama ga karada de oshiete). With that she leaped effortlessly over the boulders and turned back, demonstrating how easy it would become for me. Just at that moment it began to snow. As the snowflakes swirled around us, the clouds above us shifted rapidly in the wind, casting alternating patterns of darkness and brightness on the rockface. In spite of the bitter cold it was one of the most beautiful sights I had ever seen. Fumiko suddenly became very still. Looking back at me, she declared solemnly, "Always remember this moment, all right?" (ima itsumo oboete, ne?) She gestured skyward to the falling snow and shifting rays of light. Once more looking back at me she said: "I hope you will never forget."