Journals

Prologue I still remember the first morning I arrived in Meguro. The air carried a faint chill, the kind that turns breath into quiet mist, and the light fell across the river in thin layers of silver. A small truck rattled past carrying crates of bread to a café not yet open. Somewhere, the scent of cedar mixed softly with coffee. It was ordinary, yet it felt complete — a city already awake but unhurried, as if every sound had been measured and placed with care. That morning

Along tranquil paths around the river in Tokyo’s Meguro ward, autumn beckons not as a mere change of season, but as a marvelous display of sophistication. Leaves bathed in golden and reddish hues, dancing to the rhythm of crisp winds and sometimes pelting to the ground like confetti, can be juxtaposed against fragile-looking tree branches, thus underpinning the transient nature of the season.There is poetic elegance in the manner maple trees tilt toward the river, as if to wh