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Where We Dream Wide, and Dwell Small
Where My Gaze Once Rested
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Kyoto: Where the Maples Whisper
VideoAttempt: Life’s Stage
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zilinni@arizona.edu
In the windy dusk, the last red leaves flicker like flames about to burn out. I stood under the tree for a long time, picked up two intact and vivid red leaves, and carefully tucked them into the pocket. Moved by the grandeur and solitude of the scene, I felt that the fiery red seemed to burn into my eyes and kept itself deeply into my memory.Bathed in the glow of the sunset, I lift my head and take a deep breath of the chilly air, quietly bidding farewell to autumn in Kyoto.
Kyoto: Where the Maples Whisper
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November 29, 2024
During the final days of Kyoto’s autumn foliage season, I flew here to see the crimson leaves. The air was already turning sharp with the scent of winter, yet the city still held on to its last warmth of gold and scarlet. This year, the season has come a little later than usual, as if nature herself hesitated to let go.
When the train slid past the Kamo River, the reflection of red maples shimmered like a dream on water. Old couples walked slowly under the fiery arches of trees, schoolchildren kicked fallen leaves into the wind, and a monk in grey robes crossed the bridge with calm steps. It was then I realized — Kyoto in autumn is not merely a place, but a rhythm, a gentle heartbeat that slows time itself.
This grand gift from Kyoto is the most radiant finale of autumn. The sight of mountains and forests dyed in brilliant colors is far beyond the lifeless descriptions in books. When such a scene unfolds before your eyes, words fall silent. All that remains is the quiet gratitude for nature’s blessings — a feeling that rises from somewhere deep within, as if the entire world were whispering, “Just look, and remember.”
Among the landscapes of the four seasons, I still love the autumn foliage most. It carries the bittersweet balance between arrival and departure, between what burns and what fades. Perhaps that’s why I’ve come to understand the Japanese idea of a shōmi kigen, the “best before” moment when beauty is most alive precisely because it is about to disappear. The crimson leaves, too, have their own perfection — not in how long they last, but in how they fall.