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The morning mist was still clinging to the

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mossy stones of the courtyard when Kenji slid

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the shoji screen open.

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Cool, crisp air rushed into the quiet interior,

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carrying with it the earthy scent of damp

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soil and awakening pine needles.

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He knelt gracefully upon the woven tatami mats,

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his joints making barely a whisper against the

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straw.

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Before him stood a low wooden table, polished

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to a dark, lustrous sheen by decades of

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careful hands.

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He reached for the heavy ceramic teapot, its

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textured glaze catching the first amber rays of

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the sun as they spilled across the room.

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Water boiled gently within the iron kettle in

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the corner, singing a soft, lulling tune that

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matched the steady beating of his own heart.

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With deliberate, practiced movements, Kenji measured the emerald

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green leaves and poured the steaming water.

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He closed his eyes, inhaling the grassy, vibrant

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aroma as it bloomed in the warmth.

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Here, tucked away from the frantic pace of

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the modern world, time seemed to slow, measured

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only by the dripping of dew from the

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maple leaves outside the open window and the

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quiet grace of a morning well begun.