Autumn
秋
The Silent Memory: Japan’s Autumnal Poem
A silent crimson crowds the earth, blooming in clusters like a creeping flame. The Red Spider Lilies (Higanbana) softly announce the coming of autumn in a space untouchable by all. That red is not heat, but a deep, resonant stillness.
In the distance, the mountains are draped in autumn leaves (kōyō), their ridges conversing with the sky. In the gardens, maple leaves snuggle close to the moss, and one single leaf drops onto the water, rippling an instant into eternity.
The rivers carry the memory of the wind in their clear currents, gently connecting with distant landscapes. The grounds of temples and shrines are filled with the presence of prayer, and fallen leaves dancing on the path call back the passage of time.
Each scene, without physically touching the others, resonates as a single season through the wind, color, and aesthetic interval (Ma).
Japan’s autumn is a poem played by the unspoken landscape—like a memory quietly lighting up deep within your gaze.