Autumn Passage

Enryaku-ji stands high on Mount Hiei, removed from the rhythm of life in Kyoto below. Founded in the eighth century and now recognised as part of a UNESCO World Heritage site, it is a Buddhist temple complex shaped as much by its setting as by human hands. Arriving there feels like stepping into a quieter world.

Most visitors gather around the well-known facades. I stepped away from those views, moving to a quieter edge of the complex where the crowds thinned and the presence of the mountain felt clearer. From there, the temple felt less like an object to be observed and more like something held in place by its surroundings.

Looking upward, I noticed how the autumn canopy seemed to frame the roofline. Branches stretched overhead, layered in amber and gold, reaching both toward the sky and toward the temple itself. The foliage felt protective rather than decorative, as if the structure had grown into the forest rather than been imposed upon it.

The choice of this site began to make sense. High above the city, surrounded by trees and cloud, the temple exists within a cycle of seasons, weather, and stillness. Architecture and landscape are not separate here, but interdependent.

I waited for hours as clouds shifted slowly across the sky. A brief opening of blue offered contrast and balance. In that waiting, time softened. Temple bells echoed through the trees, and the mountain air invited stillness and breath.

Seen through Vertique, the composition rises from roof to canopy, from built form to living shelter. It reflects patience, reverence, and the quiet harmony between human intention and the natural world that holds it.