We weren’t supposed to see snow today.
The forecast said clear skies.
The plan said spring.
We boarded a 2.5-hour bus from Shibuya to Kawaguchiko.
Light trenchies on,
camera ready,
and heart set on cherry blossoms
and sunlight.
Instead,
we 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 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.
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.
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.
We went to chase spring, but winter found us first.
And in that mismatch, I learned something about grace.
The kind that arrives unannounced, unbothered by your plans.
Not all storms are bad.
Some are reminders
to pause and let the snow fall,
to feel something unexpected.
Because when life starts to feel predictable,
you’ll remember that once..
In Japan,
snow fell on your cherry blossoms.
And it was still nice.