It has been many years since the days when Japan was almost a second home to me, when I would return two or three times each year during my university days. Time has gently blurred the names of the shrines and temples that once welcomed me, but not the feelings they left behind.
They were never places sought out by tour groups or guidebooks. Hidden away in tranquil corners, they retained an authenticity that seemed untouched by the passing decades. Weathered wooden kiosks stood quietly beneath ancient trees, where visitors could rest with a bowl of freshly whisked matcha, listening only to the rustling leaves and the distant ringing of temple bells.
Near the halls of worship were simple offering plaques, each bearing fragments of local folklore, legends, and heartfelt prayers—stories passed from one generation to the next, belonging only to that place. Looking back at these photographs, I realise that while the names of those sacred sanctuaries have faded from memory, their quiet spirit has never left me. They remain among the most treasured journeys of my youth, preserved not by maps, but by the enduring serenity they instilled within me.
Canon 20D
EF 20-70mm f2.8
Linking Black and White Community
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