OhtaNotes

The tree is not in the room—it is the room.

Every hotel lounge has a lonely poet in the corner, drinking inspiration.

A café is a place for waiting. For someone. For something. For nothing at all.

The shop appears only when you’re not looking for it.

A still table is always in motion.

Good teas make time nonlinear. So to speak, it slides, as if sideways.

This latte will be forgotten, surely. Yet I remember it now. And that is enough.

In a lounge, you are both the guest and the ghost.

Tea is nature drinking itself, and you are nature.

Don’t wait for spring—become it.