I wasn’t supposed to see snow that day.
The forecast said clear skies.
The plan said spring.
I boarded a 2.5-hour bus from Shibuya to Kawaguchiko.
Light trenchies on, camera ready, and heart set on cherry blossoms and sunlight.
Instead, I met winter’s last surprise.
The first flakes came without warning.
A whisper against the window, a blur outside the glass.
People gasped.
Phones lifted.
Strangers shared the same disbelief.
By the time we reached the lake, the world had changed color.
The pinks of the sakura were fading under soft white.
It was like stepping into a dream that refused to follow the season’s script.
I remember standing by the water.
No gloves.
No plan.
Just awe.
The cold stung my fingers, but I couldn’t bring myself to hide them.
Snow was falling gently, like the sky was exhaling.
Behind the mist, Mount Fuji stood in silence.
Steady and timeless.
Unbothered by the irony of snow falling over blossoms.
I took photos but none could capture it.
The lens kept fogging up.
Maybe it was meant to be that way.
Some moments aren’t meant to be framed.
Moments you don’t plan but somehow need.
Life’s interruptions.
I went to chase spring, but winter found me first.
And in that mismatch, I learned something about grace.
The kind that arrives unscheduled. asking nothing but attention.
So much of my life since then has been about planning.
I’ve learned to forecast.
To anticipate.
In my line of work, to protect reputations before storms hit.
But not all storms are bad.
Some come quietly.
Asking you to look up and remember you’re still human.
If I could talk to that younger version of me.
The one shivering by the lake and laughing through chattering teeth.
I’d tell him:
"Keep standing there.
Let the snow fall.
You’ll need this memory someday.
Because when life starts to feel predictable,
you’ll remember that once...
In Japan, snow fell on your cherry blossoms.
And you realized that beauty doesn’t always wait for permission."