! ! A Measured Beauty: The Japanese Mind

Between the high grey residential block and the busy, noisy Japanese street there’s a small park: three tall trees in a broad bed of grey slate chips; this autumn afternoon, the trees have shed their golden-yellow leaves over the grey ground; the gardener has carefully brushed them with his wooden broom off the chips, and into tidy golden rings around the bases of the trees; as if the leaves were gathered in some joyful ceremony of gratitude, respect, and friendship; not farewell, but time dissolved into a circled beauty; the passers-by note this timeless act of worship; share this with the others as they pass, politely glancing towards strangers; meeting, respectfully, not their eyes, but, as leaves to trees, their heart.