寒露: 菊花開 / Cold dew: Chrysanthemums bloom (72 Micro Seasons)
Japan embodies the spirit of autumn or 秋 aki. Falling leaves, fading light, farewells - the dynamic embrace of the impermanence.
Japan’s love of autumn is expressed through seasonal food, arts and culture, sports, and reading 食欲の秋、芸術の秋、スポーツの秋、読書の秋.
Autumn, a season to nourish, to learn, to deepen one’s roots.
Chrysanthemums (kiku), pampas grass (susuki), osmanthus (kinmokusei) - these warm, vibrant floral hues of summer’s farewell invite us to appreciate the subtle beauty of cooler and shorter days.
Seeing deeply
“With China (porcelain), the painted decoration is the first thing you see, but if you are familiar with it, you can see past the painting and move on. But when you become familiar with it, you go beyond the painting and into the world of the sense of touch. The skin, the earth. You go into the taste of the soil. Superficial relationships become boring.” - Misunderstood Beauty, a link shared by Hyun Woo Kim, Substack author of Three Hundred Tang Poems
Nature is seen deeply in Japan.
Nature is beautiful, not just for its first impressions, but because it speaks to something deep in our hearts - beauty with all its imperfections, impermanence, everything in a constant state of flux.
Even if leaves fall into winter, life continues to persist in the grass - comforting yet disorienting.
Like that deep déjà vu feeling when we encounter a familiar stranger, where fleeting moments stir up memories and emotions, much like the resilience of life in winter.
Japan’s love for nature is so intertwined and weaved so deeply into its culture and arts, intricately connected and almost unconsciously.
Nature is culture. And culture is nature. See also ‘The Japanese Art of Living Seasonally’ by Natalie Leon.
Think of chrysanthemum or 菊 kiku - Japan’s national flower and emblem of the Imperial family - and how it gets integrated into Japanese culture, synchronized with the change in season across so many ways.
In the dining scene, chrysanthemums are one of Japan’s many autumnal culinary delights.
In October, chrysanthemum hana-kanzashi floral hair ornaments are worn by maiko (apprentice geisha).
In poetry, poems meet the rhythm of time, such as the following by 平貞文 Taira No Sadafumi, a mid-Heian period poet: The chrysanthemum blooms in a season of its own. As its color changes, it flourishes even beyond the peak of autumn.
And in Japanese tea ceremonies - microcosm of Japanese culture.
“Chanoyu (Japanese way of tea) must be made with the heart, not with the hand. Make it without making it, in the stillness of your mind.” “Nor does the utensil become a narrow focus of attention, but manifests itself in and through the person’s act.” - Wind in the Pines, a book on the Way of Tea shared by Dairik Amae, Kyoto-based tea master
In September, coinciding with the Chrysanthemum Festival or Kiku no Sekku, moon and chrysanthemums are key themes for tea ceremonies as reflected in tea sweets or wagashi, tea utensils, and floral arrangements in tea rooms.
October, on the other hand, is known in the world of Chanoyu as the month of nagori. A time when mended broken tea utensils are re-used with the Japanese spirit of not wasting anything (mottainai).
A time to prepare for the winter to come, with a tinge of reluctance. A time to immerse our hearts and minds as if it’s the beginning. A time of lingering farewells and feeling deeply into the nostalgic.
A time to notice. A time to savor. A time for that aftertaste.
A time to embrace the art of seeing beneath the surface.
Tea brewed with care moistens not only the throat but also the heart. And as expressed in ‘The Book of Tea’ by Kakuzo Okakuro:
“It is rather the soul than the hand, the man than the technique, which appeals to us - the more human the call, the deeper is our response.”
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Autumn is already my favourite season - you've given me a few more reasons why ;)
After reading this, I've changed my mind and I am going for matcha instead of shui puer