The Japanese inaka (countryside) is a humbling lesson in minimalism. The landscape embraces a palette of four colours. The sky is blue; the fields are green; the houses are brown; and the vending machines and clouds are white.

No doubt, it’s an exaggeration to claim that there are no other colours, but I find myself drawn to comparing and contrasting the myriad shades within these vivid colours. They present clear and clean visuals to my line of sight. My eyes gravitate towards anything that deviates from these four colours. The shiny red tractor humming in the distance. The solitary tree who has forgotten the memo that winter is here and defiantly holds on to its yellow golden leaves. Reddish tomatoes adorning the land. They make for memorable and atmosphere-evoking images.

It extends beyond sight. The inaka is so profoundly quiet that my ears tune into on a particular sound at any one time. The red tractor doing its work is one example. So is the duck creating ripples in the river as it takes flight from the waters. I realise why it was so hard for me to teach my primary school kids sensory descriptions. We are bombarded with so many different sounds in the concrete jungle that we are at a loss on what to focus on. But here, in the inaka, every passing vehicle’s engine becomes an intentional focus. I even nod in acknowledgment at the driver, for I’m in the inaka and that’s what people do.

A child-like peace envelops me, providing a balm against the cold winds. So this is how less is more feels like.