It’s snowing tonight in Tokyo; the first time I’ve seen snow here in two years. Snow falls are not common in Tokyo, so any time it happens must be savoured.
I’m in my apartment at the moment, Ugg boots and hot carpet on (obviously, not in the same manner), watching the flurries fall outside my window. The train line outside my house seems to have stopped running too. Snow has a curious muffling, deadening effect on the world, but the lack of traffic and noise make it surreal, like I could be cooped up in a solitary cabin somewhere in the mountains rather than in a jungle of apartment buildings with tens of thousands of others.
Illuminated by the streetlights, the snowflakes make flickering shadows on my window as they add to the blanket down below; it’s a supremely tranquil feeling.
The snow isn’t silent, either – it makes plopping, lapping noises as it alights on to my window sill, then a dull whump as a flurry breaks off and heads earthwards.
As exotic as living in a foreign country may seem, you can still find yourself in a routine sometimes, just like back at home. I know a rare evening of snow in Tokyo makes me remember to appreciate those unique experiences.
This morning, I draw back to curtains, ready to savour a pristine white blanket of snow:
Oh well, if I can only have an hour of snow, that one would have ranked up there.