I often receive thoughtful gifts that reflect my connection to Japan—perhaps a pack of samurai playing cards or a set of geisha postcards. While few could know that the item atop my current wishlist is a monograph on small firms in the Japanese economy during the postwar era, I still appreciate these gestures. They encourage me to momentarily set aside more obscure pursuits and re-engage with Japan’s classic cultural exports.

Among these, a haiku wall calendar entered my hands late last year. It's a product from the Art Gallery of Greater Victoria in Victoria, Canada, each month featuring a haiku paired with an ukiyo-e (浮世絵) print. I hung it in the kitchen, and throughout the year, I've been glancing at a new haiku each month as I potter about. Most so far had been from the Edo Period (1603–1868), with poets like Buson and Issa offering verses on nature, the seasons, and the secret romances of feudal society.

In his One Hundred Famous Haiku anthology, author Daniel C. Buchanan suggests that haiku are meant to be revisited, as each reading can reveal a new interpretation. The calendar becomes a fitting format, with a month to absorb each poem rather than flipping quickly through a larger collection. It has been a welcome presence in my home, though, until this month, it remained just a passing fancy.

September has arrived, and after a mild English summer interrupted only by brief spells of heat, the air has cooled, and fallen leaves have already scattered across my local park. London's streets hum with back-to-school activity, and while summer hangs on, its warmth threatening one final encore, the equinox draws near, ready to mark the shift. I've always felt attuned to autumn—it suits my temperament, especially after long summers, which leave me with a subtle but constant unease for reasons I've not entirely identified. Autumn is when I feel most creative and productive.

It is also my preferred season in Japan for much the same reasons. The cycles of these two island nations roughly mirror one another. However, September in Tokyo is becoming increasingly warm, with data from the Japan Meteorological Agency showing a noticeable shift towards hotter and more humid conditions. Tokyo reached a high of 34 degrees Celsius today. Still, hot drinks will soon return to vending machines, konbinis will roll out the oden, and maple leaf-themed packaging will fill the aisles of the sūpā.

This month, I turned the page of my wall calendar to reveal a night scene along the Sumida River in Tokyo. The full moon hovers in the sky, its reflection resting on the river's still waters. In the foreground, a boat holds silhouetted figures while one person stands on a small dock nearby. Willow branches delicately frame the left side of the image. The palette is dominated by shades of blue, shifting from deep indigo at the top to softer tones near the horizon, capturing the tranquillity of a moonlit Tokyo night.

Beside the image, a haiku:

街中を 小川ながるる 柳かな
Machi naka o ogawa nagaruru yanagi kana

Through the town
a little stream is flowing—
willow branches hanging down

The image, slightly more urban than the other scenes in the calendar, caught my attention first. The work, Sumida Banryō (隅田晩涼), translated as Evening Cool on Sumida River, is by Kobayashi Eijirō (小林栄次郎), an artist active during the Meiji Era (1869–1912). Eijirō's art often juxtaposed traditional aesthetics with modern themes. He created several series, including depictions of Tokyo's changing cityscape and railway scenes, reflecting the industrial progress of the time. Sumida Banryō exemplifies the shin-hanga (新版画) style, blending traditional Japanese woodblock techniques with Western influences like perspective and shadow.

Comparing the haiku to the image, while the Sumida River is by no means a stream, it's an inspired choice by the calendar's curator. It features hanging willow branches and flowing water, and the artist's life also intersects with that of the haiku's writer, Shiki (子規), who lived between 1867 and 1902.

To understand where Shiki fits in, I had to learn the history of haiku. For brevity, here's a condensed timeline: Haiku evolved from waka (和歌), classical Japanese poetry, between the Nara and Heian periods (710–1185), known for its refined and formal expression. By the Muromachi Period (1336–1573), renga (連歌), or linked verse, had emerged, with poets alternating between lines of 5-7-5 and 7-7 mora (音, sound units similar to syllables) in collaborative compositions. By the Edo period, haikai renga (俳諧連歌), a more playful variant, grew in popularity, and the opening 5-7-5 verse, or hokku (発句), became a standalone form, later used by Buson and Issa, those poets prevalent on my wall calendar.