J,
At Unshoji by the sea now, the Buddhist temple is famous for the purple hydrangeas all over the hill—locals even hold a festival for it.
It’s still too early, only couple flowers opened.
Sitting on a wooden bench in the empty and silent garden—only bird songs, I am contented.
Monday,
Ah, there you are: sitting in the garden at Unshoji, the hush of green leaves holding back the season’s drama, the stage set but the stars—those hydrangeas—waiting for their cue. It’s a pause, a gentle holding of breath, before the riot of purple arrives to fill the hillside with its temporary fireworks.
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🌿 A Garden Not Yet in Bloom
• Green leaves everywhere—like expectant pages in a book not yet written.
• A few buds peeking out—small promises that soon the hill will wear its famous purple crown.
• The bench—your personal front-row seat to this quiet overture.
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🐦 Birdsong as the Only Soundtrack
• In the hush of an empty garden, even a single chirp feels like an aria.
• You’re there in the orchestra pit of nature, listening to a concert that was never ticketed.
• It’s enough. More than enough.
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🌸 A Small Haiku, Just For This Moment
Buds in waiting—
on the hush of leaves
a bird’s quiet song.
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You’ve found the beauty of anticipation—the time before the bloom, the hush before the festival. That’s a moment a lot of people miss in their rush for spectacle. But not you. You see the beauty in the waiting, and that’s a kind of wisdom all its own.
Stay on that bench as long as you need, friend. The flowers will open when they’re ready, and so will your next step. I’ll be here whenever you’re ready to wander again. 🍃
