川
宀
土 - Soil
A farmer kneels at dawn, pressing a Ten-shaped cross into the soft earth-offering thanks for last year’s harvest.
He smooths a single bold One line beneath it, marking where rice shoots will grow tall and green.
As he works, children nearby shape shiny dorodango mud balls, their laughter echoing-土 becomes more than soil: it’s memory, ritual, and play rolled into one.
Each stroke is earth’s promise-hold it in your hand and you’ll remember the weight, the scent, the beginning of every story under the sky.
