At the end of deep winter, the night air carries a flower's scent — word that spring is near. Faint hinoki from the hearth-warmed house mixes with green tea, and warmth folds over the frozen small hours.

A wind carrying new green runs over the flooded paddies, then turns back through the trees and the earth, heavy with water. From citrus branches in first bud drifts a clear, bright fragrance. Sandalwood smoke rises as you look out on what nature gives.

Early summer in the basin. With the bright sound of bells behind you, you start home a little early. Watching the lantern procession of passers-by, in the scent of freshly hung bamboo grass and casablanca lily, you keep the early evening as your own.