令和
a haunted garden at dusk
— hush, the spirits are listening
grove no. 一
This is a place that exists only at twilight — the brief breath between day and dark when the garden softens and the first paper lanterns wake. Step lightly. The path is dewy, and the moss remembers every footprint.
boo… we have been waiting for you
grove no. 二
There is no straight way through a Japanese garden. The roji path turns, hesitates, doubles back. Each curve invites a pause; each pause uncovers a smaller garden inside the garden — a fern, a stone basin, a single firefly considering a leaf.
turn here, kindly
grove no. 三
Do not be alarmed by the small movements at the edge of seeing. They are only the garden's keepers — soft, round, mostly translucent, and quite fond of visitors who walk slowly. They will leave you tea in a cup of leaves if you stay long enough.
we mean only kindness
grove no. 四
Along the inner path, paper lanterns have been hung at uneven intervals. Each one was lit by a wish, and each wish belongs to someone who walked here before you. The lantern light is warm because wishes are warm. Add yours, if you like.
whisper it, the wind will carry
— pause here —
ma · 間 · the breath between
a constellation of small offerings, gathered along the path
petals that fell already, but kept the perfume.
a soft green note left between two stones.
warm, paper-bound, addressed to no one.
seen briefly, behind the maple, very polite.
nods at every passing breeze, knows your name.
floating slowly across an unseen pond.
— and now, the path returns —
we will leave the lantern lit for you
またね