I don't know why, these days, I can no longer remember your clear appearance. Loneliness appeared from time to time and struck me, almost unbearable. Let's just say that this morning, the new firewood in the stove could not be burned, and I began to be anxious, and several times I wanted to mess with them.
Only in such a time will I feel that you are looking at me worriedly by my side. Only then can I regain my composure and rearrange the firewood. In the afternoon, I wanted to go for a walk in the village, and recently the snow had begun to melt, and when I walked down the valley, the road was very muddy, and my shoes were soon covered with mud. No way, I walked halfway and came back. I was relieved to walk to the valley that was still frozen together, but now I had to climb the slope from the valley to the cabin. Breathlessly climbing up, I read to myself a poem that I don't remember very much: "Even though I have walked through the valley where the shadow of death hangs, I am not afraid of any disaster, because having you and me with me will only add to my sorrow."
In the evening I passed the small church next to the waterwheel and saw a worker-like man intently scattering ashes on the muddy snow. I walked up to him and casually asked him if the church would be open in winter. "It is said that in two or three days it may be closed." The worker stopped his hand to sprinkle coal ash slightly and replied, "It seems that last year it was open all winter, but this year the priest is going to Matsumoto.
So, "Winter is so cold, will there be believers in the village?" I asked presumptuously.
"Almost nothing. Basically the priest is alone every day doing Mass. "While we were chatting, the priest, who was said to be German, happened to be coming back from outside. Now, it was the turn of the priest who didn't speak Japanese very well, but wanted to communicate with people, and kept asking me questions. In the end, he seemed to misunderstand my meaning and kept advising me to come to Sunday Mass!