Softly, a door slides shut. There’s a faint rustle of silk and the whisper of feet clad in tabi (split-toe socks) over tatami. After a pause, a bamboo ladle taps a small stand, its slender handle inaudibly dropping to the floor.

And it’s here — crouched in the garden outside of the tea room, holding my breath, eyes closed in concentration — that I sense my signal to quietly roll up the slatted sudare (bamboo screens) hanging outside the paper-covered windows.

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