At Shiraito Falls Not one solid curtain of water, but countless little streams

Ahead, I could see dozens of fine streams of water. I stopped on the bridge at Shiraito Falls in June. I'd imagined a waterfall as one huge sheet of water, but here, water spilled from all over the rock wall. I couldn't decide where to look first.

A cool breeze brushed my white shirt sleeve. I was glad I'd layered it over a pink top as I watched the river with one hand resting over the other. Water slipped between the stones at my feet, with the wall of falls stretching out beyond it.

Shiraito Falls pours over a rock wall 20m high and 150m wide, I learned. But before I took in the scale, I noticed how fine each stream was. They were distinct even from a distance, and the longer I watched, the more I wanted to find the thinnest one.

Most of the water comes from rain and melted snow on Mount Fuji, which seeps through layers of lava before emerging here. Thinking about how long it had travelled underground made the sound seem different too. Even without seeing the mountain itself, I can still feel close to Fuji through its water here.

Under the cloudy sky, I watched the trees and the streams of water. My eyes drifted to the heavier flow, then back to the finer ones. It was one waterfall, but it kept giving me something else to look at. Even after I'd finished taking photos, I still didn't want to leave.

After the walk, I wanted to try Fujinomiya yakisoba too. Hiraishiya at Shiraito Falls Terrace also features it, so now I'm already looking forward to my next break. I can picture this becoming one of those trips I remember: an early-summer stroll by the water, followed by a good meal.