Pathway to Japanese Literature

Japanese Apricot

The Japanese apricot tree, whether in fields or mountains, by stream banks or rocky shores, not only displayed beautiful blossoms and pure fragrance but rendered even the surrounding scenery elegant in appearance.
Crumbling earthen walls, warped rustic gates, meager fields no larger than a palm's hollow, and small shrines retaining but a semblance of form—things that ordinarily vexed the eye and left the heart unsatisfied—when even a tree or two of this flower bloomed nearby, became objects gazed upon with delightful charm.
Just as a person of lofty virtue and pure heart, no matter where they dwelled, remained untainted by the vulgarity of their surroundings and instead transformed that very vulgarity.
A person who read the Chu Shi Biao without shedding tears might still be considered a friend; but a man who did not favor this flower would not even be fit to serve as a menial.

Red Plum Blossom

A red plum blossom without fragrance resembled a beautiful woman lacking poetic sensibility.
Those graced with scent proved truly delightful.
Whether blooming within Kennin-ji Temple's small garden - its fence still bearing fresh bluish hues - or spilling radiance near the veranda of some ancient monastery's study hall steeped in universal gloom, these scenes possessed an ineffable graceful charm.
Those who pretentiously declared "White plums please while red ones displease" revealed utterly base dispositions.
Should blossoms be weighed against each other in contests of superiority?

Peony

The Peony is the flower through which human effort manifests itself.
If left untended, even fine specimens would gradually take on a sorrowful appearance; yet when one did not neglect to cultivate and nurture them, their innate beauty grew ever richer, blooming forth abundantly beneath tranquil sunlight—a splendor that seemed not of this fleeting world.
Single-petaled ones were splendid, double-petaled ones were splendid, multi-layered ones were splendid as well.
Each time this flower’s surpassing beauty met the eye, there came profound realization—how human effort revealed itself as no trifling matter—seeping into one’s very marrow.

Osmanthus

The osmanthus—though its blossoms did not particularly delight the eye—when its time came to bloom, stealthily infiltrated even shuttered study windows with its fragrance, then demurely announced its presence by rustling in garden corners as if whispering to the breeze: such artful subtlety commanded admiration.
Its sweet fragrance was not unpleasing, and its golden blossoms retained their charm even after scattering upon the ground.
Yet it was precisely this excessive strength of fragrance that one found somewhat regrettable—much like how recluses of high moral character who had withdrawn from the world might compose too many poems.

Pomegranate Flower

When people's hearts grew somewhat weary beneath the heavens, amidst green leaves visible here and there, it was the pomegranate flowers spouting crimson flames with abandon that stood out most strikingly.
It could not be said to possess the pathos that draws human eyes, nor did it boast the startling beauty that astonishes them—yet one might declare it held an intensity that pierced through one's gaze.

Crabapple

When peonies reached their splendor, one never begrudged the butterflies and bees at play; yet when crabapples erupted in lavish bloom, even the mere approach of brightly plumed birds stirred jealous thoughts.
Truly in floral beauty and pathos, nothing surpasses this.
Whether battered by rain or bedewed with moisture, never did it lack for alluring grace.
The scarlet quince was said to serve as its handmaiden.
O radiant princess!
May you never lure wanderers astray—that would be fortune indeed.

Gardenia

The gardenia was the sulker of the flower world.
Though confined within living hedges, it bore no resentful countenance; blooming serenely where sunlight rarely reached, to those who understood the pathos of things, its existence—hidden away from the world—must have appeared profoundly moving.
The blossom's fragrance, not overpowering but gently suffusing the air, carried an essence particularly untainted by the dust-laden world—in cloud-wandering dawns and wind-stilled twilights.

Daphne

The daphne resembled townsfolk who had studied haikai.
Its stature was not tall, nor did its appearance boast splendor, yet it could not be called base.
Examined up close, it would lack charm; appreciated from afar, it might hold interest.

Daylily

The daylily emerged alone from among various grasses to bloom peacefully, possessing an air that neither flattered the world nor curried favor with people, yet neither despised society nor turned away from others. The flower might lack the beauty of lilies, yet it possessed elegance. Though gentle in all aspects and bearing what might be called the modest demeanor of a noble gentleman—not something one would pluck out for admiration—it was nevertheless quite pleasing. When there were two or three matters that did not go as one wished—it being human nature to feel resentment and sorrow—facing this sincere-hearted flower, would that one might forget worries and heal sorrows.

Snowball

The snowball resembled hydrangea yet lacked intricacy. Initially tinged with faint hues, it ultimately attained purity like snow. It was akin to a person of somewhat eccentric temperament who, through accumulated years and progress along the Way, came to possess a heart both pure and upright. Pleasing when beheld from afar, pleasing when examined closely. To merely name it a flower? Rather, one ought take it as one's teacher.

Narcissus

A woman of beauty and talent who remained unwedded and unversed in worldly ways, preserving purity until life's end—secluded in mountain villas, revealing her countenance to none but the moon, living with pristine heart—such embodied the very essence of the narcissus flower.
In the foothill village where dusk gradually darkened, near the steep slopes of Awa's Nokogiriyama, the "kindai" stood blooming—its nobility without equal.

Chrysanthemum

Chrysanthemums: white ones are splendid.
Yellow ones are splendid.
Red ones too are splendid.
Purple ones too are splendid.
Shu red ones too are splendid.
Large ones are splendid.
Small ones are splendid.
Crane’s Feather varieties are admirable.
Xishi varieties are admirable.
Senjū varieties are admirable.
Human effort reveals itself in flowers' largeness, petals' peculiarity, and colors' bewitching allure; natural charm shows itself in flowers' robust health and colors' unadulterated purity.
It is said Tao Yuanming loved white chrysanthemums, while Emperor Juntoku too praised those of white hue.
Those white and not large bore many blossoms with sturdy constitutions; when battered by wind and rain, though they might once lie flattened upon the ground, they would swiftly rise again to bloom—chrysanthemums that ought to have been truly cherished by people of old, unlike those who cultivate them today for prideful display.
Beneath the lingering moon, even when ink-dark evening winds blew, the white flowers stood out with particular purity and grace.
Could the yellow ones be flowers' true color? Indeed these too appeared refined and tastefully elegant.
Purple and red each possessed their own distinctive charm.
Had there been even one detestable aspect—but there was none.
Even if things one personally disliked existed, since they were not colors artificially applied by people, condemning them outright proved difficult.
When one comes to regret having thoughtlessly disparaged them before—these flowers through which we discover unforeseen charms with each encounter and find such delight—would not even the blossoms themselves feel ashamed?

Recently, someone drew a child holding a chrysanthemum flower. At first glance one might think it depicted Jidō, yet it seemed not to be; then considering it could be the Chrysanthemum Maiden from Han Wengong's Stone Chamber murals in Chengdu of Shu—but no woman appeared therein, nor any macaque visible either—the observer grew perplexed, until later learning it represented a chrysanthemum flower spirit born from the painter's imagination. If that person had admired chrysanthemums so profoundly that the flowers themselves felt compelled to reciprocate his devotion—manifesting before him in a child's form—and had he then taken brush to capture that semblance, one could not help but smile imagining what an intriguing work would thereby have taken shape.

芙※ ("※" = grass radical + 渠)

Entrusting itself to the water's undulations, whether drifting or still, its floating form possessed an inherent charm. But does the appeal lie solely in the blossoms? Leaves afloat, leaves curled, leaves spread wide, leaves torn and split, leaves withered to completion—all held their splendor. When the calyx turned verdant green or darkened to russet hues, not one lacked beauty; even those resembling honeycombs carried their own peculiar grace. Sitting long before this flower blooming with pristine coolness, I felt not that I observed the blossom, but rather that my own flower observed me. Reflecting upon the myriad impurities staining my being, I keenly sensed my own worthlessness and regret. How many souls in this mortal realm could truly be deemed worthy to admire such a flower?

Magnolia obovata

The Magnolia obovata stood upon lofty treetops in mountain depths, maintaining an untainted countenance toward the dust-laden world as it sang out solely to azure clouds—its nobility beyond compare.
Its fragrance remained unyielded even when battered by fierce celestial winds; the color, pure as if chiseled from white jade yet retaining warmth within.
Though single-petaled, those blossoms that bloomed large and resolute surpassed even the grandest double blooms in splendor.
Its spiritual essence differed from worldly commonalities—the flower’s visage worthy of gracing a fairy’s crown stood exquisitely precious.
To place this blossom in a vase was beyond mere mortals’ worthiness.
First in Han China’s Emperor Wu, then our land’s Taikō [Toyotomi Hideyoshi]—only such as these were deemed fit to make it vase-worthy.

Rose

In Mutsu’s outer beaches stretching along the coast, amidst sandy grounds where waves came crashing—there bloomed tenderly the crimson rose, evoking profound pathos.
While on horseback gazing at distant mountains that stretched and broke in succession, listening to the booming sound of the sea—just as one was composing travel thoughts into poems—one caught a whiff of an alluring fragrance while adjusting the reins and suddenly noticed beneath one's gaze two or three of these flowers blooming strangely entwined with vines; the delight defied all description.

Kerria

Kerria was a flower untouched by Chinese airs.
Those trained into hedges differed in character from deutzia blossoms yet shared the same refined allure.
The yellow double-petaled varieties proved especially comely.
An elegant woman with raven hair and fair features became surpassingly beautiful when wearing this flower as a hairpin.
For women's hair ornaments, this blossom would make the most fitting adornment.
Did not roses carry fragrance too assertive while their floral beauty remained within proper bounds?

Rice Sack Flower

Poppies bloomed only to scatter away fragilely, appearing to teach the pathos of things even to stout-hearted souls—how charming.
It was like a young, beautiful child who no sooner appeared to have become a woman than she was already with child, her belly swollen.
That others would say, "She might have remained unpossessed by a man a while longer," amounted to after-the-fact criticism born of being too deeply drawn to her beauty.

Sasanqua

Camellias were originally winter flowers.
When Dongpo described them blooming in snow like blazing crimson fire, he captured their true essence.
In our land, though they might flower early, their most abundant and beautiful blooming came with spring's arrival.
Their varieties proved astonishingly numerous—sixty-eight types already cataloged by the Kyōhō era alone.
As admirers multiplied, their cultivars would likely rival peonies in diversity.
Gettan and Shōtenkō were names of grand Chinese varieties.
Wabisuke and Shiratama designated our native white-flowered kinds.
Amidst the mountain camellia's tangled branches and dense foliage, a bloom of deep crimson opened—people called it vulgar, but I found it compelling.
Wabisuke blossomed small with wabi austerity; people deemed it unremarkable, but I thought it charming.
Could those Koseyama camellias praised in poetry as 'row upon row' truly be the same blossoms people now extolled as beautiful?

Camellia leaves too hold their splendor.
Ever verdant and glistening—who could deem them unworthy of admiration?
Unlike the steadfast evergreens of pine and cedar, these possess their own distinctive grace.
How delightful too that in crafting hōsho paper, their foliage finds occasional employment.

Amur Adonis

The Amur Adonis appears to have been established as something planted in small pots to adorn alcoves in January.

Those growing wild in fields and mountains—while one might have seen them depicted in paintings—have never truly been witnessed in reality.
Indeed, it is not without its refined aspects.
However, this flower must be something to be cherished solely by those who dwell upon the tatami mats of Bingo-omote.
Would those who know to tread the earth find no charm in it worth drawing their hearts?
The butterbur flower has known smiles; this blossom has inspired no verses.

Apricot

The flower called 'apricot' with its Chinese-tinged name—whether double-layered or single-petaled—both were splendid. Particularly when double-layered pale pink blossoms bloomed resplendently, and on clear days when winds strong enough to raise sand suddenly arose, scattering petals through shafts of sunset light like rain or hail—this evoked profound pathos. By an unnamed stream’s edge at a farmhouse’s rear where one or two single-layered apricot trees bloomed—their shade sheltering washed pots and pans left upturned to dry in the sun—from around these blossoms spilled forth the very essence of tranquil spring.

Mountain Cherry

The mountain cherry's small flowers bloomed in clusters—though they seemed unworthy of being counted among proper blossoms—hiding their faces outside the garden's four-eyed fence. They resembled a young girl from the country, unaccustomed to the capital, who shrank back and hid behind others; yet her modest figure still caught people's eyes. The supple branches and leaves not too coarse harmonized with the flower’s elegance—it was not unpleasing. That this flower lacked distinction—even I agreed—but none would claim it wanted for pathos.

Peach

The peach—having never read books nor learned to compose poetry—resembled a country person who, having aged and shed worldly desires, got tipsy on a bowl or two of village sake and burst into innocent, hearty laughter over some trivial tale.
Rustic charm abounded, yet worldly dust was scant.
Without any half-hearted attempts at refinement, the very crudeness of its unadorned appearance instead brought delight.
Having seen them blooming gloriously at the very end of a mist-steeped village across the river; having seen them blooming vibrantly around a small house beneath cliffs where spring breezes gently lingered by a valley—there was no scene lacking in charming elegance.
There existed a man who derided this flower as vulgar.
Generally speaking, are they not precisely the sort who—merely from knowing a few characters—would call their own parents foolish?
What a joke.

Quince

As for quince, both the scarlet and white varieties were splendid; though it bore thorns, was not its form also pleasing? While using this as a hedge might have seemed extravagant, it was precisely such extravagance that befitted a maiden’s home. On the branches of this tree in villages near water, moss readily clung, adding yet another layer of charm—a delightful sight. In narrow gardens—under high windows, near shutters, or at the edge of eaves—stood dwarf trees. In spacious gardens—beyond the pond, at the hedge's corner, or in the shadow of a small shrine—rose somewhat taller trees. When spring had yet to deepen, they bloomed in red and white—truly delightful.

Quince

In Tokyo there were few marumero trees; in the northern regions they appeared abundant.
In the garden of the house I once inhabited in Yanaka had stood a single one of these trees.
At first, knowing not even its name, I had found nothing of interest in its poorly arranged foliage; the trunk's many knots pained my eyes to behold, giving the impression of standing before some difficult person—thus I had thought it wholly unremarkable. But one day after rain cleared, when unexpectedly two or three flowers bloomed forth, I felt secret shame wondering: should these blossoms know the contempt that had dwelled daily in my heart?
The blossoms bore a pale pink hue beyond compare—nobly beautiful, unassuming yet gracefully expansive. Measuring over an inch in size and blooming in five single-petaled layers, they exuded profound elegance.
I hear there are also white ones; though I have yet to see them, I imagine they too must possess purity.
Long ago, among Confucius' disciples, there was a man called Ziyu, whose fierceness surpassed even that of Zilu.
When carrying a jade disc across the river, Ziyu encountered the river god who—desiring to seize the disc—stirred waves and sent jiao to surround his boat in threatening demand. Declaring "I should be sought through righteousness, not coerced through intimidation," he wielded the disc in his left hand and a sword in his right, striking down all the jiao.
Being such a person, his countenance must have appeared fearsomely wild, akin to barbarians; Confucius himself is said to have erred in judging people by appearances when it came to Ziyu.
To liken marumero to Ziyu would be utterly preposterous—yet whenever I see these flowers thereafter, I cannot help but think that the man called Ziyu must have resembled this tree in essence. Is this wisdom imparted by the blossoms themselves?

Butterfly Iris

Now, the iris belongs to the same class.
They were often seen in areas such as Sagami and Ueno.
Its leaves resembled those of leopard lilies and irises; its flower shape recalled rabbitear irises. Though there was nothing particularly remarkable to single out, it possessed an ineffable charm that one could not easily dismiss.
When they bloomed upon the ridge of an old thatched roof after rain—was this not fascinating?
While most flowers were planted before the eyes of a house’s master, this one alone was often planted above people’s heads—could this have been due to some mysterious virtue inherent to the blossom?
Reflecting on it, how charming.

Azalea

Azaleas have many varieties.
Those with red flowers and single petals may not be rare, but they are thought to possess the true essence of azaleas.
Whether one or two untrimmed dwarf trees blooming beside discarded stones in a garden, or clusters blooming alongside an artificial hill—all are beautiful.
When this flower blooms, from that time onward the taste of sake soon becomes unpleasant, and it is my habit to keep away from the wine cup myself until the chrysanthemum flowers bloom.
As for others, I cannot say—but I do not consider this a flower to drink sake before.

Plum Blossom

The plum blossom appeared lonely and pale.
At night they rivaled the moon over Guan Mountain; at dawn they resembled snow upon battlefields—the verses sung by poets of old held no falsehood.
By a house that appeared poor—near its collapsing shed, beside a broken fence—they bloomed, appearing sorrowful as if unrelated to spring.
The poem that stated, "Until they appeared as lingering snow—the plum blossoms at Yamagatsu no Kakiho had bloomed," was truly delightful.
Truly, it was indeed fitting that these blossoms bloomed at places like Yamagatsu no Kakiho.
That too would have lacked charm were the flowers too densely clustered without proper spacing.
Yang Wanli’s statement that “plum blossoms are fitting when viewed from afar and even more suitable when abundant”—one must say it was aptly expressed.

Magnolia

The magnolia was a type of Kobushi magnolia.
Though some blossoms were white and others purple, when one spoke of 'magnolia,' it was understood to mean the white variety.
Though its scattering phase lacked charm, the appearance it presented when about to bloom seemed most pleasing.
It was like a plump, tall woman—white as snow—whose brows and eyes might be fair or plain, yet from afar first captivated the heart.
Yet there were those who disliked this flower’s appearance for its vaguely Chinese air.
On the other hand, when blooming in the gardens of large temples and such places, there were indeed instances where they were praised precisely for possessing that Chinese air.

Pear Blossom

Plum blossoms appeared sorrowful; pear blossoms seemed cold.
Crabapple blossoms were beautiful in the morning dew; pear blossoms shone clear under the evening moon's light.
Cherry blossoms were fleshy; pear blossoms were gaunt.
Among flowers, might one have called the pear blossom the gaunt figure?
A blossom neither crassly common nor lacking in quiet refinement.
In foreign lands, I heard there existed red-colored thousand-petaled varieties.
Though not particularly rare, might those of foreign lands have borne blossoms more beautiful than those of our country?
Moreover, perhaps because in our country we bent branches and dwarfed trunks solely out of desire for fruit, both we and others had come to know little of the true elegance of pear trees' blooming demeanor and rarely encountered their inherent beauty—might this have been why?
Compared to poetry, songs rarely extolled pear blossoms.

Rose

To liken the Rose—with its thorns—to a woman whose heart holds poison despite her beautiful countenance would be exceedingly shallow.
The thorns, red against green stems, were not without charm.
If even I refrain from touching them, they would not be hateful; how then could one compare them to the poison in people’s hearts—loathsome merely to behold from afar?
The beauty of their hues, the richness of their fragrance, their branch formations, leaf arrangements, fruit shapes, thorn configurations—was there any aspect that should invite disdain?
That Chinese and Western people hold this flower dear—there was indeed good reason for it.
Their white blooms whispering in dawn winds, their crimson ones standing beneath midday sun; some leaning on trellises exhaling maltose-like fragrance, others sprawling across the earth emitting fiery radiance—all were splendid.
Yet the way this blossom somehow exuded an oily quality was curiously charming.
What it must have drawn from the earth, I could not say.

Wisteria

When spring flowers bloomed indiscriminately in every hue that startled the eye—just as their regrettable transience made one resentful of how swiftly they scattered—this flower alone lingered behind to herald summer’s approach, mysteriously refined and poignantly elegant. Truly, as people of old declared, wisteria stood among blossoms as something profoundly tranquil yet radiantly beautiful.

In an aged garden where ownership had changed and neglect crept in—its fences broken, soil grown barren, plants losing color and vigor as they strayed from human care—amidst this sorrowful scene, this flower climbed high into the crowns of evergreen trees and quietly unfurled its purple waves as it pleased, its hues piercing one’s very being with profound poignancy.

Though the paulownia and ailanthus blooming in purple were all lovely in their own right, this flower’s very form seemed to harmonize with its hue, stirring the heart even more profoundly.

How fortunate that this was not one which bloomed in autumn.

When the wind grew cold and temple bells rang clear through a riverside village on an autumn evening—if this flower were to bloom beneath thin sunlight filtering through clouds—I would surely collapse beneath its shade and perish.

When the buzzing of horseflies spoke of heaven and earth’s vitality, and warm, gentle winds blew wrinkles into light sleeves of garments while lulling people’s spirits toward pleasant slumber—even in such moments, should I behold this flower, my heart drifted through a void neither clinging to sky nor earth, wandering a realm where thoughts neither formed nor faded.

Paulownia Flower

When the morning breeze cooled and dew dampened the earth, there lay an inexplicable charm in seeing paulownia blossoms fallen upon the grass. When upon the treetops, though unnoticed by people, they too possessed charm. The form of the blossoms was splendid; their hue alluring. The petals scattered not in clumps but in disarray; one felt inclined to take them in hand and play with them.

Sweet Flag

The iris had a gentle flower form and leaves of pure demeanor. Those that opened resembling the character for "heart" and those remaining closed like brush tips were all pleasingly shaped. They belonged not to rainy days but sunlit hours; suited not for evenings but dawn or midday light. Without human tending, their stems grew pitifully gaunt—yet even those blooming feebly wild in marshes held rustic charm one might scorn in capital gardens but find unexpectedly poignant on journeys afar. The irises sung in ancient verse differed from these modern blooms—what then flourished now in Ueno’s wetlands? How names shift across eras turns verses meant for recitation into riddles! What folly.

Dianthus

Dianthus excelled in their wild form.
When blooming amidst thickly overgrown grasses or in places like dried-up riverbeds where water had receded, they made passersby turn back unwittingly and murmur, "Ah, what a gentle flower."
When even among grasses cut by a lowly child returning with fodder for horses two or three of these flowers were seen—who could fail to be stirred to poetic feeling?

Bean Blossoms

Bean blossoms were all gentle.
Some might have disdained the hue of broad beans, but who could have failed to admire the form of peas?
Black-eyed pea blossoms were especially splendid.
Why did the people of the capital not plant such fine flowers and fruits?
The flowers, whether white or purple, were charming.
Poets had maintained an ignorant countenance for over a thousand years; still I could not comprehend it.
Could it have been due to my own wayward heart's preferences?

Crape Myrtle

The name Sarusuberi likely stems from how its trunk appears difficult to climb, while Hyakunichikou and Hantoshihana derive from its blossoms' enduring splendor. On summer days when cloud peaks loomed imposingly in the heavens and river stones seemed to breathe fire—precisely when all grasses wilted—this flower bloomed magnificently like fragments of Shu brocade scattered through purple clouds, possessing a charm entirely distinct from plum or cherry blossoms. Though the servant boy must have grumbled, "However much I sweep and sweep anew, petals keep falling," the master surely delighted in how fresh blossoms emerged endlessly even as others scattered. The tree's form, neither withered nor aged in appearance yet trembling like a maiden when touched—what caused this shuddering? How curious indeed.

Safflower

Though safflowers are not seen nurtured in human gardens or planted in pots, their form is gentle and colors beautiful, in no way inferior to those common flowers people cherish and delight in.
Is it because people do not lavish praise upon them, finding their small size unremarkable? Or because they pass them by, deeming their lack of fragrance unworthy of longing?
Is it that flowers should only be cherished for their large forms and lofty fragrance?
This flower generally resembles a thistle yet lacks its wild demeanor; its reddish hue differs from the thistle's purplish tinge, and being slightly yellowish, it avoids vulgarity. The pale green leaves complement it beautifully, while its entire form—ethereally delicate in its translucency—evokes profound pathos.
Although safflower dye is obtained from this flower, the flower alone does not yield color; it is only when combined with the sourness of plums that the crimson hue forms.
At a time when I did not yet know this fact, having planted a few of these flowers in my garden, I would watch them morning and evening with doubtful eyes—puzzled by the faintness of their crimson hue—a curious memory I have not forgotten to this day.

Clematis

Clematis, though often overlooked in poetry and song and relegated to mere metaphorical use, was not without elegance worthy of inclusion in verse. Twining around fences, the flowers bloomed in shapes resembling windmills—their color predominantly white with a graceful tinge of purple—presenting a beauty that appeared dignified, serene, and subtly profound. Perhaps because those who admired and delighted in it were few, it was rarely seen. I cannot comprehend it.

Herbaceous Peony

The peony, with its trunk aged and withered, yet fascinatingly blooms with strikingly lustrous flowers; the herbaceous peony, upon its slender fresh stems, beautifully unfolds vivid resplendent blossoms.
Peony blossoms appear weighty; herbaceous peony blossoms seem lightly poised.
Peony blossoms appear clouded, while herbaceous peony blossoms seem radiant.
The peony embodies virtue; the herbaceous peony embodies talent.

Balsam

Those planted outside the transparent fence of the garden were truly good.
To place them close at hand and observe would likely prove somewhat uninteresting.
The pale green of the leaves and stems appeared translucent in the sunlight, while the tiny flowers bloomed densely clustered in red—playful in aspect, yet not unpleasing.
When one plucked its fruit with a finger, it moved of its own accord as if leaping like an insect, and the pod burst open with the seeds scattering in an extremely swift manner.
Whenever one beheld such things—in grasses and trees, birds and beasts—one could not help but revere the sacred path of ceaseless life.
What of Liu Bowen’s saying, “Why should this be counted as worthy?”

Heartbreak Flower

Begonias displayed elegance through their profuse foliage despite their short stature.
They resembled a woman of humble station—unexpectedly gracious in temperament and devoid of self-importance—who nonetheless possessed beauty surpassing others.
Where these flowers bloomed beneath a small north-facing study window, veiling earth thick with green moss in quiet splendor, one inevitably envisioned the resident as embodying refined austerity.

Hyacinth Orchid

The hyacinth orchid is called 'the unknown one' by the world.
The shape of its blossoms—a pale purple hue tinged with crimson—resembles that of Spring Orchids; yet upon closer inspection, their form proves remarkably unusual.
The leaves resemble a single leaf made remarkably small; the manner in which five, six, or seven flowers bloom upon a single stem resembles that of hosta flowers.
When I lived in Tanidani, I discovered these blooming in a corner of the garden and transplanted them to a rain gutter, but before long they all perished unnoticed.
The one in the garden of Terashima’s residence, perhaps because it occupies a sunny spot, still thrives to this day.
It appears to have an aversion to moisture.
Based on the appearance of this flower, I pondered—that attempting to depict a demon's mask would be most strange—I thought so last year, and I think so again this year.

Morning Glory

Morning sleep was abhorred by the God of Fortune.
In his youth, being lax in livelihood, he resided in the Sleepless City of the Southwest where he drank to excess, resenting the nearby expulsion bell; even the whitening dawn clouds seemed bothersome as he had shutters closed, windows blocked, and candles arrayed to turn the world's day into night for revelry. Yet since these were deeds of one not enslaved to gold and silver, others had no cause for complaint.
However, even the once-wealthy decorator of Japan, who had honed radiance with gold and silver that easily vanish when depleted, now found his fortune reduced to less than a hundred kanme. Realizing he could no longer maintain his former status, he swiftly resolved to entrust his household assets to relatives, take his remaining cash, leave his ancestral home, and establish a monk-like household in Fukushima, Osaka, where he found contentment in the northern wilderness vistas.
Truly, this was a comfort in needless things.
Though the interest from a hundred kanme might now allow some indulgence, he sternly disciplined his heart, refrained from half-hearted amusements, reformed his tastes to focus solely on flowers and birds, became a disciple of Sōin's grandson Nishiyama Shōsatsu, and devoted himself to studying linked verse.
In the past, he had delighted in hearing the cuckoo’s song at Shimabara; now, though its first cry went unheard, he crafted five-syllable verses—such were the ways of men, that even in the natural outcomes of exhausting all endeavors, there lay pleasure.
At that very moment beneath the reed fence, sprouts from some long-scattered seeds of morning glories broke free from the soil with their two leaves, manifesting the poetic conceit of "I shall not abandon my dwelling."
When watered each evening, this plant extended its vines wherever they could take hold, and by early June produced its first bloom—a white blossom adorned with dew, still bearing the name of Tanabata as testament to its charm.
As his heart became attuned to them, he gradually forgot his habit of sleeping late; leaving the mosquito net to smoke a puff of tobacco while beholding the flowers unfurling their forms, words could scarcely capture his delight.
Drawing up well water with my own hands, washing away my sleep-mussed face and gazing upon the world around me—how bitterly regrettable! To have spent years squandering coins on dissipated amusements without ever knowing such delightful charm could be had without spending a single coin—now at last I swept the dust from my heart.
From then on, having grown accustomed to rising early, as he swept the living room each morning, removed the garden's dust, and kept himself diligently active, his breakfast came naturally, and forgetting his former ailments, he came to know the joy of unailing health.
All this being due to the morning glories he so dearly cherished—when summer of the following year arrived—the seeds remaining from the previous year’s blossoms were far more numerous than before; they sprouted in such abundance that one could well imagine how lush the vines must have been.
The man contemplated deeply: that a mere wild plant could spread its seeds so abundantly in just one year was truly astonishing—the adage of "a mere drop at first forming great rivers and seas" now lay manifest before his eyes. By this logic—though his current capital was modest—were he to apply himself earnestly in trade—restoring his former wealth would not be distant. Realizing even a useless recluse like himself might achieve this—he that very day sent notice to those entrusted with his gold and discreetly established his commercial venture. After careful consideration that large-scale cargo vessels promised unmatched profits—despite maritime risks—he resolved to reinforce anchor cables and construct sturdy cypresswood hulls capable of weathering storms—trusting old offshore captains' wisdom as no falsehood—commissioning new 900-koku and 800-koku ships manned by diligent sailors—dispatching them to Dewa no Kuni Noshiro—Fortune smiled upon him as desired—and by the second year—after all deductions—he saw six kanme in profit.
From this point—riding commerce’s rhythm—he purchased rice and cotton—neglected none of his commitments to salt fields—adopted an heir from Torikai Village renowned for skilled falconers—further instructed him until growing ever more into a man of means—the auspicious signs of his household now surpassing former glory—with fulfillment’s character shining unobscured as he prospered conspicuously.

This is a story that Dansui, inspired by morning glories, conceived through clever contemplation and brought into being.
Splendid are the flowers, splendid the tale.
The flowers' poetic essence truly mirrors what this story conveys; how vexing that human comprehension so often falls short of grasping what this narrative lays bare.

Cotton Rose Hibiscus

The Cotton Rose Hibiscus has leaves that are easy on the eyes and flowers of particular beauty.
Among autumn flowers, none can rival their beauty save for chrysanthemums.
When it was heard that a woman called Seibun had died and become the deity governing this flower, a man—overcome with longing—disregarded the deep evening dew to prostrate himself before this flower’s beautifully blooming form, offering four things: clustered flowers’ stamens, ice-shark silk gauze, Qin-fang spring water, and maple-dew tea, while conducting a ritual reciting heart-wrenching text—this tale is most intriguing.
In the autumn twilight of that year when I beheld these flowers blooming in great numbers in the spacious garden of a certain person in Hashiba—truly, in such a place would that man have wept—amidst the rustling catalpa and elm trees, the desolate mugwort and wormwood, the faint light of the evening moon, and the lonesome sound of the western wind, I wandered about gazing upon these surpassingly vivid flowers, lost in reminiscence.
Though all stories are far from truth, when I reflect, I too had indulged in thoughts no less foolish than that man’s, and later mocked myself for it—yet now, upon further reflection, even that mockery proves all the more foolish, born of my desperate wish to appear wise.