KML – Chapter Ten

A single tree stands tall. Rooted deep, it gazes quietly at the sky. The tree does not move—but it lives, feeling wind, rain, and sunlight alike.

Two trees stand side by side. As the wind passes through, their branches touch and whisper. A grove begins with companionship.

When many trees gather, a forest is born. Light and shadow mix, and life fills the space. The forest breathes with nature’s rhythm.

The Japanese Judas-tree greets with soft leaves and a gentle fragrance. Long called the "moon tree," it appears in many ancient stories as a tree of mystery.

The oak’s leaves are broad and thick, strong in form. Long considered sacred, the oak has been used in shrine festivals since ancient times.

A square frame made of wood. It protects and shapes what is placed inside. The frame allows the world within to stand out.

At the highest tip of the tree, the treetop reaches toward the sky. It sways with the wind and catches the light — the border where earth meets sky.

Wooden boards stacked together form a shelf. It supports, organizes, and keeps things within easy reach — a quiet helper in daily life.

In spring, the apricot tree blossoms with soft pink flowers, soon bearing fruit. With its gentle sweetness, it announces the arrival of spring.

The paulownia grows quickly, spreading its large, beautiful leaves. Long used in noble family crests, it remains a symbol in Japanese tradition.

When a seed is planted in the soil, a small sprout appears. Receiving water and light, it slowly grows — the beginning of life.

A chair made of wood becomes a place to rest the body. By sitting quietly, new strength is gathered.

When a tree loses water, it withers. The leaves lose color, and the branches weaken. Yet even in stillness, there is a quiet beauty.

A plain, unadorned tree. In its simplicity lies true strength and quiet kindness.

Where trees gather, people begin to live. Fields spread out, and laughter fills the air — this is how a village begins.

Two people face each other, meeting eye to eye. They think of one another, and hearts connect. This is the spirit of "mutual."

A desk made of wood becomes a place for learning and work. Hands rest on it, thoughts expand, and new worlds are created.

A line is drawn at the base of a tree, marking “this is the beginning.” A book is the start of knowledge, the starting point of every story.

Names or words are written on a wooden board and placed as a tag. It carries meaning, showing who made the wish or left the message.

With the sun’s movement, each day is recorded on the calendar. The seasons turn, reflecting nature’s rhythm — a map of time.

Beneath the roof, thoughts quietly unfold. On the wooden desk, new plans are spread out — a guide for the future.

Under strong sunlight and heat, the earth and trees dry out. Moisture fades, and a parched world stretches endlessly.

The tip of the tree branch has not fully stretched yet. It’s still growing — "未" is the story that’s not yet complete.

The tree branch has reached as far as it can grow. “末” marks the end of growth — the very tip.

Even as the sun rises, the sky remains hazy and unclear. “昧” is the world of vagueness and uncertainty.

Imagine tiny drops of water bursting into the air. 沫 is built from the water radical 氵 on the left and 末 (end, tip) on the right — so think of water flaring up at the very edge of a splash, just before it disappears.

The moment food enters the mouth, flavors spread. Each taste carries the story of its land and people.

Still young, but filling the family with smiles — the younger sister brings kindness and energy wherever she goes.

A vivid red like the rising sun. Used in shrine gates and seals, vermilion is a color of special meaning.

After a tree is cut, the stump remains. Sometimes, new shoots grow from it. The stump is both a foundation and a new beginning.

The sight of a new sprout just beginning to grow. Still small, but full of hidden strength ready to flourish.

Tiny green leaves spread across the ground. Grass is soft, yet strong — even when stepped on, it rises again.

Among the grasses, some leaves are bitter. That bitterness feels like a trial, but can also become medicine, strengthening the heart.

When something soft like grass is struck by harsh wind or forceful hands, suffering appears. “苛” expresses that harshness.

Beneath the roof, the heart opens wide. It accepts differences and gently embraces all — that is a broad and tolerant heart.

In a gentle field of grass, colors and scents are faint. Not strong, yet they leave a quiet beauty in the heart.

From a single stem, leaves spread out. They receive sunlight and carry out the work of nurturing life.

The form and shape of a tree are copied to create something new. “模” means a model — we learn, imitate, and shape things accordingly.

A vast desert with little water or greenery. With no clear shape, it stretches endlessly — that is "漠."

A stone is placed upon the earth, creating a place of quiet rest. The grave marks both the end of life and the beginning of stillness.

As the sun sets, the day comes to an end. Life flows gently, built from each day's simple moments.

Thin membranes inside the body protect and enclose what’s important. Often unseen, yet essential for life.

A tiny sprout peeks from the ground. Still fragile, but from here a great life begins.