September is already drawing to a close. It’s still hot here in Nagoya, but it feels like I’ve been wearing short sleeves for nearly half a year now. Should I buy new short sleeves, or should I just make do with what I have until long sleeves are needed… The question of what to wear in September and October is starting to arise for me.
By the way, the other day I came across an ancient literary work describing daily life on September 20th, roughly 700 years ago.
It’s Yoshida Kenkō’s Tsurezuregusa, written around 1331 during the late Kamakura period. Within it, there’s a passage describing September 20th (by the old calendar) nearly 700 years ago. One section is titled “Around September 20th” (Section 32), and the title itself is the date.
Around the twentieth day of the ninth month, I was invited by someone and went moon-viewing until dawn. Something came to mind, so I had them guide me, and I entered. In the overgrown garden, the thick dew and the unforced fragrance wafted softly, creating a hidden atmosphere that was profoundly moving.
Though he left at a good hour, I still felt the tenderness of the moment and watched from my hiding place for a while. He pushed open the sliding door a little more, as if to view the moon. Had I rushed in then, I would have spoken out of turn. How could I have known someone was watching from behind? Such matters depend solely on one’s vigilance day and night.
I heard that person soon disappeared.
This is the passage.
Simply put, on the night of the full moon in late autumn, around the 20th of September, two people were enjoying moon viewing together. Kenko and his acquaintance visited a certain person’s house. While waiting, Kaneko observed the house: the garden was untended and overgrown, yet carried a natural fragrance. Such details seemed to deeply resonate with him. What impressed Kaneko even more, however, was the owner’s demeanor, leading him to watch the person for a while.
It’s truly a casual, rambling account, simply recording the everyday life of the Kamakura period without any particular focus. Some readers might feel a sense of kinship, thinking, “Even people 700 years ago had sensibilities similar to ours…” while others might admire, “Well, that’s Kenkō for you! It’s that uniquely first-rate perspective only he could have.”
By the way, did you assume the person being observed was a woman? I myself had assumed so, but actually, the original text doesn’t explicitly state that the observer is a “woman.” Many modern translations seem to imagine a woman, conjuring an image of quiet, ephemeral grace, but the truth is, who this person was, where they came from, and what they were like remains a mystery.
As autumn nights grow cooler, why not take on the challenge of solving this mystery from Yoshida Kenkō, who lived over a thousand years ago?
The Tokyo 2025 World Athletics Championships, which opened on September 13th, have been making headlines daily. Since it’s being held in Japan, the viewing times are convenient for us, but I can’t help but worry about the athletes competing in events after 10 PM—isn’t that too much of a burden?
Even so, the physical abilities of the world’s athletes are simply astonishing. Yesterday, Kenya’s Faith Kipyegon won gold in the women’s 1500m. Despite her petite frame at just 157cm tall, she dominated the race with an overwhelming performance, leaving no room for others and carrying the air of someone who simply belonged in first place. After crossing the finish line, while other athletes collapsed, she was seen smiling brightly and cheerfully, showing concern for her fellow Kenyan competitor. Her charming demeanor instantly won me over as a fan. I’m looking forward to seeing her battle it out with the Japanese athletes in the 5000m.
And then there’s the pole vault, which always gets me hyped (or is it just me?). This time, Sweden’s Armand Duplantis cleared an incredible 6m30cm, setting a new world record. He also achieved the remarkable feat of winning the event for the third consecutive Olympics. It’s a sport I could never do myself, but I love how it makes me feel like my own body is floating along with the athlete. The exhilaration when they clear the bar is truly special. Even if it’s just a mental simulation. Watching the pole vault always makes me wonder what ability is most crucial for this sport. Muscle and flexibility are obviously necessary, but I can’t shake the feeling there’s some hidden special talent involved.
Also, during the recent pole vault final, the sense of camaraderie among the athletes was strong. Though rivals, they felt more like comrades striving together to reach new heights. When Duplantis broke the world record, seeing the other athletes rush over, embrace him, and celebrate wildly nearly brought me to tears. Maybe it’s my age… I find myself wishing this spirit of sportsmanship could permeate everything.
While glamorous events like the 100m are certainly intriguing, personally, I find myself worrying about false starts so much that the race feels over before I know it. After all, a false start means instant disqualification. Moving within 0.1 seconds of the starting signal constitutes a false start. This rule is based on the medical fact that it takes humans at least 0.1 seconds to react to an external stimulus. Moving within 0.1 seconds is considered moving before hearing the starting gun. However, there are studies suggesting that with training, reacting within 0.1 seconds might now be possible.
The judgment of a false start is now made using a false start detection device attached to the starting blocks. Sensors detect even slight changes in pressure. That long tube attached like a tail behind the starting block is likely this device. This equipment is reportedly made by Seiko. While Japan doesn’t win a large number of medals, it makes me proud to think that Japanese technology supports fair competition.
Incidentally, the starting signal apparently doesn’t come from a pistol. This is to account for the time lag before the sound reaches the athletes. The actual starting signal comes from speakers at the athletes’ feet or within the track. To ensure fairness, the technology has advanced this far.
Even so, since no athlete deliberately false starts, witnessing the disqualification is painful to watch. The sight of a referee approaching an athlete at the starting line to declare a false start seems cruel, but it’s probably unavoidable for the sake of fair competition. Until 2002, a second false start led to disqualification. However, this led to more athletes taking a gamble at the start, so from 2003, a single false start resulted in disqualification. Many will remember when Usain Bolt, hailed as the fastest man alive, was disqualified for a false start in the 100m final at the 2011 championships. It really brought home the intensity of a race decided by thousandths of a second.
At this Tokyo meet, a rare occurrence?—a false start in the men’s marathon—also happened. While comments flooded in saying there was no need to panic, considering the athletes’ seriousness, it’s no laughing matter.
I’ll be enjoying the World Athletics Championships for a while longer.
Mid-September is approaching, and we’re finally transitioning from summer to autumn—a season where we can gradually feel the light, refreshing breeze.
For those celebrating birthdays in this crisp September month, your birthstones are sapphire and kunzite, both possessing refreshing, soothing colors. Originally, sapphire was the sole birthstone for September in Japan, but kunzite was later added as a new birthstone.
Some sources list two birthstones for September: sapphire and lapis lazuli. Why does this happen? Upon closer reflection… when exactly, and by whom, were birthstones first determined? Why were these particular stones chosen from the vast array of gemstones?
Tracing the very origins of birthstones, their history surprisingly dates back to the Old Testament, around 3,500 years ago.
It is said that the description in the Old Testament of a Jewish high priest wearing a breastplate adorned with 12 types of gemstones became the root of birthstones. Inspired by this, around 1,300 years ago in Europe, a culture began to spread where people would “own 12 types of stones and wear the appropriate stone for each month.”
However, since one had to own all 12 gemstones, it was an impossible task for anyone but the wealthy. It is said that the rule gradually evolved into “wearing the stone corresponding to your birth month will bring good fortune.”
By the 18th century, jewelers had established monthly birthstones, and as trade flourished, this culture spread worldwide.
However, the specific birthstones varied widely by country and region at this time.
A major change came in 1912. The American Jewelers Association established birthstones by assigning stones to each month. While the selection was based on biblical references, it also incorporated stones gaining popularity at the time, like diamonds, which weren’t mentioned in the Bible, reflecting revisions suited to the era. This list was revised several times afterward, and in Britain, the Goldsmiths’ Company also selected birthstones. Today’s birthstones are based on these two systems.
Incidentally, Japan’s birthstones were established in 1958 by the National Jewelers Association. That was only about 60 years ago.
While largely based on the American and British birthstones, Japan’s list incorporates uniquely Japanese elements, adding “coral” for March and “jade” for May. (Jade is also Japan’s national stone.)
Just as Japan has its own unique birthstones, birthstones overseas are also established based on each country’s customs and climate. Even though the origin is the same, differences in birthstones between countries exist because of religious backgrounds and stones deeply familiar to each nation. It’s not a matter of “which one is correct?” but rather “all are correct.”
Learning who decided birthstones and their origins reveals you don’t necessarily have to wear your own birthstone. Since birthstones themselves were decided later, it’s perfectly fine to wear any stone that resonates with you—whether it’s your birthstone month or not—if you feel drawn to its color or intrigued by its shape.
I’ve been rushing around Fukui Prefecture these past few days, visiting spots that caught my interest, but there was one more place I really wanted to see—a building I adore.
The ‘Nenjima Museum’
This museum is a work by my favorite architect, Hiroshi Naito. Naito’s representative works often involve public projects, art museums, and museums. For instance, you might know the Marunouchi Station Plaza in front of Tokyo Station. His work is characterized by deeply understanding the local climate and environment, then establishing architecture through rational methods. Based on a design philosophy of “thinking from the perspective of people,” he creates buildings designed for long-term use, anticipating the diverse lifestyles of users and the future vision of the city. This museum has also won numerous awards.
While his early work pursued ultra-low-cost construction by pushing concrete to its limits, he later focused on distinguishing architecture’s “unchanging elements” from its “changing elements.” This approach incorporates flexible spatial configurations, enabling buildings to adapt to shifts in era and family structures. Many of Naito’s works are found in Fukui Prefecture; in fact, the Ichijōdani Asai Clan Ruins Museum I visited recently is one of his creations.
pon ascending to the second floor, a 45-meter-long, 70,000-year-old annual ring display traces events from the past to the future. A massive concrete wall is positioned at the gallery’s center, supported overhead by steel trusses and beams made from locally sourced cedar. The roof is a simple gable design, and with glass walls on all sides, the structure appears to float lightly within the surrounding landscape.
Gazing at this scenery, you peer into annual rings growing at a rate of 0.7cm per year. Over 73,000 years, they reveal multiple ice ages, volcanic eruptions like the Aira Caldera (Kagoshima Prefecture), changes in CO₂ levels, and more—truly a chronicle of Earth’s history. Since one year is just 0.7cm, deciphering each 0.7cm within the 45m seems like it could lead to new discoveries.
Gazing at these long annual layers, one realizes that the years of one’s own life amount to just a few centimeters. Even the trivial worries of daily life fit within these few centimeters… It’s something everyone might think about. Yet, these layers, this building, and this view—all built upon 45 meters of accumulation—compel one to feel a deep respect for those few centimeters.
May the landscape with these annual rings and this building continue to peacefully accumulate time together.
It’s already mid-September, yet next week promises a return to summer-like heat during the day. As the saying goes, “The heat and cold last only until the equinox”—perhaps we just need to endure a little longer.
Yet the seasons are shifting undeniably. Even when the sun beats down in the daytime, making sweat pour, the cool breeze that brushes your cheeks as the sun begins to set reminds you of autumn’s approach.
This season always brings to mind the waka poem by Fujiwara no Toshiyuki, included in the Kokin Wakashū:
“Autumn has come—
Though my eyes cannot yet clearly see it,
I am startled by the sound of the wind.”
Translated into modern Japanese, this means: “The signs of autumn haven’t yet become clear enough for me to see and truly feel, but I was startled to sense its presence in the sound of the wind.”
For me, it’s not the sound of the wind that startles me, but its coolness. My point of feeling differs slightly from the poet Fujiwara no Toshiyuki, but we share the same experience of being suddenly startled by the wind and recognizing autumn’s arrival. So, every time I feel a cool breeze, I can’t help but recall this poem.
Another thing that makes me feel autumn is when I notice the sky has grown high and I spot autumn clouds.
Speaking of autumn clouds—scales? Mackerel? Sardine? Sheep? They all sound so similar, don’t they?
Actually, they’re all correct and are seasonal words for autumn.
Scales, mackerel, and sardine clouds are all colloquial names for cirrocumulus clouds, which form at altitudes of about 5,000 to 15,000 meters. They appear as numerous small clusters. Sheep clouds are the common name for altocumulus clouds, which form at altitudes of about 2,000 to 7,000 meters.
While all can be seen almost year-round, autumn brings clear skies with good visibility all the way up, making altocumulus and cirrocumulus clouds easier to spot. Additionally, since they are frequently seen in autumn when typhoons and moving low-pressure systems often approach, cirrus clouds, sardine clouds, fish-scale clouds, and sheep clouds are considered seasonal words for autumn.
Although they look similar, there is no clear definition to distinguish them, so none of the terms seem incorrect. If forced to differentiate, it seems they are distinguished by their visual appearance.
By the way, do you know how to tell fish scale clouds and sheep clouds apart?
The difference between these two types of clouds is simply the “size of each individual cloud.” Altocumulus (sheep clouds) are at a lower altitude, so they appear larger because they are closer to the viewer.
There’s an easy way to tell these two clouds apart: hold your thumb up and extend your arm straight toward the sky. If the individual cloud pieces fit behind your finger, it’s a fish-scale cloud; if they extend beyond your finger, it’s a sheep cloud.
Additionally, fish-scale clouds, mackerel clouds, sardine clouds, and sheep clouds tend to appear when a low-pressure system or front is approaching. This indicates the weather is turning, and rain is likely on the way.
There are old sayings like “When fish-scale clouds appear, rain comes within three days” or “When sheep clouds appear, rain comes the next day.” These seem to be quite reliable and useful proverbs, so you can probably count on them being about 70% accurate.
Next time you look up at the autumn sky, try remembering this little tip.
