There is a melancholic poetry in things Wabi Sabi that is not exclusive to Japanese philosophy. I feel it in the peace of an old village, with its crooked streets, leaning buildings and crumbling plaster. I feel it in the history, the very lives that have played out there.

Wabi Sabi then is age spots and laugh lines and grey hair. It's a favorite shirt that wears with care. Wabi Sabi is our awareness that things, while inevitably fleeting, can offer a glimpse into the beauty that is eternal. But it can’t be acquired; it can't be faked. Wabi Sabi is the gift of time.