Haven

Eau de Parfum

他們說這是喧囂的城市，於是我們躲進小島的靜謐。
捧著泡好正溫熱的抹茶，暖了冰冷的指尖。這是從冬日捎來的清綠。
有人打開門，頂著被風吹亂的髮絲，捧著食物向我們揚揚手。
軟糯的蕨餅沾上黃豆粉，甜裡透著一絲澀香，最好吃了。把附近的人也叫上吧。噠嗒、噠嗒。
森林小徑旁的小屋，沒有童話裡的煙囪裊裊，卻散發著柴木燃燒的溫暖。

They say this is the city that never sleeps, so we hide in the island’s hush.
Warm matcha steams between cold palms—a green breath of winter.
The door opens; someone steps in with wind-ruffled hair, lifting a plate of food.
Warabi-mochi dusted with soybean powders—sweet, then quietly earthy, the best kind of sweetness.
Come, call the others. Footsteps scatter over wood—tap, tap.
A little cabin beside the forest path—no fairytale curl of smoke, just the low, honest warmth of burning wood.