I have to apologise in advance - university entrance exams and student theses have combined to bury me in work so a short post this month! Anyway, after a cold spell a couple of weeks back, the nice autumn weather has returned. We've still rarely had to put the heating on: the sun being lower in the sky heats up the apartment in the daytime! It really is a lovely season with gloriously coloured leaves falling like confetti, spectacular sunsets (pictured), and delicious fruit: we received a box of La France pears from Yamagata last week and persimmon (kaki) the week before, known as the Queen of Fruits and the Divine Fruit of Autumn respectively.
The other morning, while standing on the balcony, a red dragonfly (tombo or, in old Japanese, akitsu) - a symbol of strength, good fortune, and happiness - landed on the railing right beside me. Whereas in England the dragonfly is often dismissed as just another insect, here in Japan it has a special place in Japanese hearts; Japanese are very fond of the critter with its large compound eyes and two pairs of beautifully latticed transparent wings and children even try to catch them using various clever techniques. As a fast predatory insect that apparently never gives up it is also known as katsumushi (winning insect) and appeared on samurai armour as a symbol of determinedness and victory. In fact, Japan itself was even once called Dragonfly Island (Akitsu-shima) because of its shape! The insect has inspired generations of poets: in haiku poetry, the dragonfly is a season keyword (kigo=季語) for autumn, capturing the essence of the season, as seen in the following stanza by Scott King: "The red dragonfly; a small amount of sunset; trapped in its wings"
As mentioned earlier, another spectacular feature of the season are the changing colour of the leaves, fondly known as kōyō (紅葉) in Japanese which includes both the red/orange Japanese maple and the yellow Ginkgo trees. Much like cherry blossom-viewing, Japanese take this very seriously and will travel for miles to visit a nice spot. One of the most popular places in Tokyo central in both spring and autumn has traditionally been the Imperial Palace grounds and a few days ago (November 26th) Inui Street was opened to the public for autumn foliage viewing through December 4th (here). I don't have time to even travel that far at the moment, but fortunately my university has some spectacular maples and other trees in magnificent shades of red, orange, and green. Almost makes it worth going into work - almost! What does autumn mean to you? Let us know in the COMMENTS!
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| Thank-you to David for the amazing pictures! |
8 comments:
Hi Chris. I agree with you about the spectacular colours of Autumn. I love to see the trees changing from green to gold and red. I make a special effort when walking my dog to walk through a carpet of fallen leaves. I love the sound of them crunching under foot. Sadly this means the trees are bare but I look forward to seeing the buds on the branches in Spring. x
Nice to know that it's not only the Japanese that appreciate the changing of the seasons! The sound of crunching leaves underfoot is indeed wonderful - in Japanese it is described by the onomatopoeia "kasa-kasa" which refers to something dry and rough ( also used to describe dry skin!).
Aki bare is my favorite time of year in Japan. The colors of the leaves are breathtaking. And it is usually warm enough to be able to get,out and about without having to wear heavy clothing.
We have two persimmon trees in our backyard. This year we have been enjoying a very bountiful harvest of kaki! So many that I have given some to family and friends, in fact.
Good luck with your grading, etc.
Thanks Richard! For readers who may not know, akibare (秋晴れ) describes those clear, crisp Autumn skies without a cloud in sight. The perfect time for a bit of "forest bathing" (shinrinyoku=森林浴)!
Just returned to Australia from a glorious three weeks in Japan. Enjoyed the scenery in amazing technicolor. Even now looking at my photos, I can’t believe I haven’t enhanced the images at all. The colours were exceptional in Matsumoto, Takayama and Kyoto. Am I correct in my observation that the momiji Japanese maples are more endemic to southern and western Honshu and they were transplanted into gardens in other parts of Japan? I say this because I didn’t really see the colours in forests. Also, is there a difference in the usage of “momiji” and “kōyō” in relation to autumn foliage or are they interchangeable?
Thanks for posting a comment DC. It sounds like you came to Japan at just the right time - would love to add one of your photos to the blog post! As for your questions, although momiji and kōyō both share the same kanji (紅葉) they are not the same thing: the former refers specifically to the Japanese maple while the latter describes the general phenomenon of all leaves changing color, including but not limited to the maple. As for whether momiji are more endemic in the south and west, I’m afraid I’ve no idea. I do know that many areas in the north, such as Nikko, are famous for their maple leaves and that they are indigenous to Japan, with references appearing in the 8th century poetry anthology Man'yōshū (literally 10,000 leaves!).
Hello Chris. I have some photos of autumn leaves in Japan I could send to you. Don’t know how to send it on a blog comment though.
On the right side of the blog there is a "Get in touch!" option, where you can fill in your name (a pseudonym is fine) , email, and message. If you use that then I can contact you directly by email and we can sort out a picture!
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