A figure appeared and descended slowly, without making a sound

Steps in Meiji Jingu — Stairs before the worship hall

On a weekday afternoon, Meiji Jingu felt almost impossibly quiet for a shrine sitting in the center of Tokyo. The wide approach—usually packed with tour groups and wedding parties—held only a scatter of unhurried walkers. Fallen leaves made a faint rustle that seemed louder than it had any right to be in this city. On a day like this, one imagines Emperor Meiji and Empress Shōken, enshrined here, finally having the peace to listen to people’s petitions. Though, if I’m honest, prayers must resemble postal mail to the divine: some get delivered, some get lost, and a few probably end up in the wrong box entirely.

Thinking such unhelpful thoughts, I found myself staring at the stone steps before the main hall—the ones in the photograph. As I stood beside them, a solitary figure emerged at the top and began descending with deliberate, soundless steps. They had likely finished their visit, their wishes made, their mind lighter. The afternoon sun skimmed the edge of the staircase, and their shadow stretched long and thin across the stones, as if making its own quiet pilgrimage.

Meiji Jingu on Google Map

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