It was after three hours of walking through mist that smelled like wet stone and cedar, when I finally found the small shelter by the trail. It wasn’t a real hut—just a leaning structure made of old logs, roof patched with sheets of bark. The kind of place you might miss if you weren’t tired enough to need it.
Inside, there was already someone there.
An old man, maybe sixty, maybe seventy. Hard to say. His rain jacket was so faded it looked like riverbed stone. He was sitting cross-legged, pouring tea into a metal cup from a small thermos, steam curling up and disappearing into the cold air.
When I slid the door open, he looked up but didn’t smile.
He just nodded once, slow and tired like a tree bowing to wind.
I stepped inside and bowed, brushing the rain off my jacket.
「こんにちは。」[Hello.]
He nodded again.
「おつかれさま。」[You must be tired.]
His voice was rough, but not unfriendly.
I sat down a little ways from him. For a while we didn’t speak. Just listened to the rain tapping on the bark roof, the distant call of crows echoing somewhere deep in the mountains.
Then he poured another cup of tea, and after a pause, slid it toward me.
「どうぞ。」[Here you go.]
I took it with both hands.
「ありがとうございます。」[Thank you very much.]
He sipped from his own cup, looking out at the mist, then said quietly,
「今の世界、早すぎるね。」[The world today… moves too fast, doesn’t it?]
I nodded, not sure yet if he was really talking to me or just saying it to the trees.
He didn’t wait for an answer.
「人間の心、そんなに早くできてない。」[The human heart isn’t built to move that fast.]
His words hung there, heavier than the mist.
I found myself saying,
「たしかに。ついていけない気がします。」[True… feels like I can’t keep up sometimes.]
The old man gave a soft laugh, almost like he didn’t expect me to reply.
He took another slow sip, then said,
「機械はね、人間の弱いところ、すぐ分かる。心の穴も、欲も、不安も。」[Machines… they quickly find our weak spots. The holes in our hearts, our cravings, our fears.]
He spoke the way my grandfather used to—no rush, no need to convince. Just laying the words down like stones in a river, one after another.
「悪いわけじゃない。ただ…うまく使われてる。」[It’s not exactly bad. Just… being used too well.]
I didn’t answer. Only watched the steam from my cup disappear into the misty air.
Somewhere far off, a branch cracked under the weight of rain.
—
The Instincts They Learned Before We Could Defend Them
After a long silence, he added,
「昔、人間はね、寂しかったら、火を囲んだ。話した。黙った。泣いた。でも、今は…画面だね。」
[In the old days, when people were lonely, they sat around the fire. Talked. Fell silent. Cried. But now… it’s screens, isn’t it?]
His voice wasn’t angry.
Only deeply, terribly sad.
I said,
「孤独を埋めるふりして、もっと孤独になりますね。」[It’s like… pretending to fill loneliness, but only becoming lonelier.]
He smiled faintly.
「そう。埋まらない穴に、小石を投げてるだけ。」[That’s right. Just throwing little stones into a hole that can’t be filled.]
Outside, the rain picked up again, drumming harder against the roof, like it was trying to remind us of something older than all our machines.
—
Wabi-Sabi in What Doesn’t Shout
He looked at his cup, then at his hands, as if remembering them after a long time.
「完璧なもの、続かない。早いものも、燃え尽きる。」[Perfect things don’t last. Fast things burn out.]
I asked, softly,
「じゃあ、どうすればいいんですか。」[Then… what should we do?]
He didn’t answer immediately. Only closed his eyes for a moment, breathing so quietly I thought he might have fallen asleep.
Then, still without looking at me, he said,
「遅くてもいい。静かでもいい。写真も、”いいね”も、いらない。自分だけの時間を、ちゃんと生きること。」
[It’s okay to be slow. Okay to be quiet. You don’t need pictures, you don’t need likes. Just live your own time, properly.]
The words entered the space between us like mist, touching everything gently.
No demand. No instruction. Just a simple truth, so old that maybe we were only now starting to remember it.
I finished my tea in silence. It was lukewarm by then, but it didn’t matter.
Nothing needed to be perfect here.
Nothing needed to be shared.
—
When the rain softened, the old man packed up his small thermos and stood up slowly, like a mountain rising from mist.
He bowed slightly.
「じゃあ、気をつけて。」[Well then… take care.]
I bowed back, deeper.
「ありがとうございました。」[Thank you very much.]
He disappeared into the trees without a sound, swallowed by Yakushima’s endless green.
I stayed in the hut a while longer, letting the silence wrap around me like another layer of skin.
I didn’t take a picture.
I didn’t post about it.
I just sat there,
listening to the slow, ancient language of the rain,
feeling the weight of my own heart return
to something closer
to human speed.
Something the machines could not touch.
Something only the mist could understand.
And when I finally stood up and stepped back into the forest,
I walked slower.
Much slower.
As if remembering how to belong again.
life 
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