Between Shadows and Leaves
It was an ordinary autumn afternoon, and my husband and I were sitting on a bench in Kyoto Gyoen National Garden, taking a short break. While watching the beautiful autumn leaves and enjoying the gentle sunlight shining through the trees, I suddenly heard someone say, “Come here, it’s so beautiful!”
I turned around, curious, and saw a middle-aged man with a beard waving his hand, beckoning us to come over. He repeated himself, “Come here and take a look, it’s so beautiful!” There was something so warm and genuine about the way he spoke, like he was talking to an old friend, with a big friendly smile on his face.
Normally, I would have politely declined his offer—my instinctive caution towards strangers kicking in, as my parents had always taught me to be careful. But this time, something felt different. There was a sincerity in his smile that made it hard to say no, and, to be honest, I didn’t want to say no. Perhaps it was because I had never been invited by a stranger to simply come and see something beautiful. I felt a strange sense of excitement and curiosity in my heart.
Without thinking too much, I ran toward him. My husband, clearly confused, watched me dash off before following at his own pace. The man stood in the middle of a small forest near a tree, his excitement shining in his eyes as I approached. “Come and stand here,” he said, pointing. “Look! Look how beautiful it is!”
I cautiously stepped closer and followed his gaze. There, I saw a gentle stream of sunlight shining through the green and yellow leaves, casting a soft glow over some tiny purple plants that looked like miniature grapes. It was indeed beautiful—so delicate and magical. I told him so, and in that moment, two strangers connected over a shared appreciation for beauty.
My husband and I instinctively reached for our phones to capture the scene. The man gave us some tips, suggesting we bring the lens closer to the plant. When I hesitated, he kindly offered to show me himself. I handed him my phone, and he demonstrated how to frame the shot. From there, we began sharing our own little discoveries with each other, pointing out hidden pockets of beauty in that small forest.
As we talked, we learned his name was Takashi. He lived in the Kyoto area and loved photography, especially capturing nature’s light and shadows. He even showed us some of his photos, which we both admired. It turned out we shared a common interest, inspired by the essay In Praise of Shadows (written by Jun'ichirō Tanizaki, 1933). Before parting ways, we took a selfie together to remember the moment and exchanged warm goodbyes, wishing each other a beautiful autumn afternoon.
That brief encounter left a strong impression on me. I’ve thought about it often, wondering why it felt so impactful. I think it’s because I had never been invited by a stranger to look at something beautiful. Small talk with strangers happens everywhere, but it’s usually about predictable topics—weather in Europe, food in China. But in Japan, I experienced something completely new: connecting through beauty.
In that moment, Takashi and I shared something deeper than words—a quiet understanding, a resonance born from seeing beauty in the same way. It’s a rare and special feeling when someone else notices the same wonder you do. There’s a kind of joy in experiencing beauty together, in knowing the other person truly sees it too.
If weather and food can start conversations, why not beauty? It influences us just as much, if not more. During our trip to Japan, I noticed beauty everywhere—in architecture, art, and design, but also in the smallest details: a tea cup, a paper wrapper, a garden pot. It doesn’t matter whether someone lives a luxurious or simple life—beauty is present in the everyday, accessible to everyone.
Where I come from, beauty often feels tied to wealth, something exclusive to those who can afford it. But in Japan, at least in the places I visited, beauty seemed to belong to everyone. Even the smallest, most ordinary things—pastries, paper packaging, a potted plant—were made with care and intention, creating moments of quiet joy.
Right before our trip, we had hosted an online course called Aesthetic Paths to Flourishing, where we explored how beauty can shift our awareness and bring meaning to even the most challenging situations. Meeting Takashi felt like an extension of that journey. His excitement and generosity reminded me that beauty is not just something we observe—it’s something we share.
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