@hongchau.2004: #aokhoac #xuhuong

Bé Châuu
Bé Châuu
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Saturday 19 September 2026 03:55:04 GMT
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‘In the mountain village where the evening cicadas sing at dusk, no one visits but the wind.’ Written over 1,100 years ago, this verse captures a timeless solitude. Although the days are still sweltering, a cool breeze drifts through, whispering that autumn is on its way. This time is called ‘summer at its height’. Late summer brings one of the forest’s more peculiar sights: tsuchi-akebi (Cyrtosia septentrionalis). This orchid has no green leaves and does not photosynthesise. Instead, it is fully mycoheterotrophic, obtaining nutrients through fungi associated with its roots. Tsuchi-akebi has a history as a medicinal plant. In Japan the dried fruit is known as dotsūsō (土通草), whilst in China it is shānshānhú (山珊瑚). Its compounds include gastrodin, studied for potential neuroprotective, anti-inflammatory and antioxidant effects. Around 500–600 plant species worldwide are fully mycoheterotrophic. All orchids begin life dependent on fungi because their dust-like seeds lack the energy needed to germinate, though most eventually photosynthesise. In Japan, insects are not simply background noise but distinct, species-specific voices. Studies show that Japanese listeners process insect calls in the left hemisphere, like human speech, whilst others process them in the right as environmental noise. This reflects centuries of poetry and seasonal awareness. Cicadas spend years underground, only to emerge for a few weeks. Males sing with their entire bodies, making them among the loudest insects in the world. The evening cicada has a call that embodies the pathos of summer’s end. Their song is nostalgic, almost lonely - when I first heard it, I recognised its sorrowful timbre instantly. Over a thousand years ago people paused to listen. Today, standing on the same ground, I am struck by how their song threads past and present, fleeting yet eternal in its annual return. The cicada reminds us that life is brief – a single, brilliant flare within a cycle far greater than ourselves. Perhaps that is why their chorus lingers: in it we hear our own impermanence, and with it, a call to live with gratitude, wonder, and care for the world we inhabit. #72Microseasons #slow #slowlife #inaka #ruraljapan
‘In the mountain village where the evening cicadas sing at dusk, no one visits but the wind.’ Written over 1,100 years ago, this verse captures a timeless solitude. Although the days are still sweltering, a cool breeze drifts through, whispering that autumn is on its way. This time is called ‘summer at its height’. Late summer brings one of the forest’s more peculiar sights: tsuchi-akebi (Cyrtosia septentrionalis). This orchid has no green leaves and does not photosynthesise. Instead, it is fully mycoheterotrophic, obtaining nutrients through fungi associated with its roots. Tsuchi-akebi has a history as a medicinal plant. In Japan the dried fruit is known as dotsūsō (土通草), whilst in China it is shānshānhú (山珊瑚). Its compounds include gastrodin, studied for potential neuroprotective, anti-inflammatory and antioxidant effects. Around 500–600 plant species worldwide are fully mycoheterotrophic. All orchids begin life dependent on fungi because their dust-like seeds lack the energy needed to germinate, though most eventually photosynthesise. In Japan, insects are not simply background noise but distinct, species-specific voices. Studies show that Japanese listeners process insect calls in the left hemisphere, like human speech, whilst others process them in the right as environmental noise. This reflects centuries of poetry and seasonal awareness. Cicadas spend years underground, only to emerge for a few weeks. Males sing with their entire bodies, making them among the loudest insects in the world. The evening cicada has a call that embodies the pathos of summer’s end. Their song is nostalgic, almost lonely - when I first heard it, I recognised its sorrowful timbre instantly. Over a thousand years ago people paused to listen. Today, standing on the same ground, I am struck by how their song threads past and present, fleeting yet eternal in its annual return. The cicada reminds us that life is brief – a single, brilliant flare within a cycle far greater than ourselves. Perhaps that is why their chorus lingers: in it we hear our own impermanence, and with it, a call to live with gratitude, wonder, and care for the world we inhabit. #72Microseasons #slow #slowlife #inaka #ruraljapan

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