Calm Leaves: Waka Poetry from My Great-Grandfather's Japan

Every morning, my great-grandfather walked alone to check on a winter flower — hoping to find it in bloom. It never was. Only the frost, and beneath it, a deep faithful green. A poem about waiting, returning, and the quiet practice of showing up — even when nothing has changed yet. Original Japanese waka with English translation by Saku.

More machines. Still poor. My great-grandfather looks outward — at the struggling farming villages of his time — and hears a voice with no clear source. A poem about noticing what we cannot unhear. Original Japanese waka with English translation by Saku.

In the middle of the night, a cat falls from the fence. My great-grandfather's wife does not wake — but her breathing shifts. A poem about stillness, and the quiet ways we pay attention to the people we love. Original Japanese waka with English translation by Saku.

A winter night. A train passes quietly behind the town. My great-grandfather didn't write about the train — he wrote about the windows. Original Japanese waka with English translation by Saku.

In this first episode, Saku reads the opening poem from her great-grandfather's waka collection — a small moment on a summer riverbank, and what it quietly became. Original Japanese with English translation.