Selling Cabbage

This photo beautifully captures a quiet moment in a Tokyo neighborhood—a glimpse into everyday life that often goes unnoticed. In the foreground, crates of fresh cabbage and other vegetables are stacked neatly outside a tiny local shop. The prices are handwritten on cardboard signs, humble and straightforward, signaling that this isn’t a flashy supermarket—it’s the kind of place where the shopkeeper probably knows your name, your favorite veggies, and maybe even your dog’s name. In the background, slightly out of focus, a woman walks away from the shop with a small woven basket in one hand and a leash in the other. Her little dog, barely visible, trots beside her—just another regular in this quiet Tokyo street. A wooden archway further down the street hints at a shōtengai entrance, a traditional covered shopping street. The blurred buildings and soft afternoon light create a dreamy atmosphere, almost like a memory. It’s a scene of simple beauty—a moment of ordinary magic in a neighborhood where small shops still stand, even as the world changes around them. But just like the cabbages, these places are seasonal too. Their time may be passing, one handwritten price tag at a time.