For about two weeks in late April, two tunnels turn into waterfalls of flowers. Kawachi Wisteria Garden, Kitakyushu. Eighty meters. One hundred and ten meters. Twenty-two varieties of wisteria pouring from the trellises overhead in glowing curtains of purple, violet, white, and pink. You step inside and look up. Sunlight pours through the blossoms. Petals drift down like soft, warm rain. The whole tunnel lights up from above, and everyone around you breaks into the same helpless smile. Families walk through hand in hand. Children spin in the falling petals, laughing. Visitors from across the ocean stop mid-step, phones lowered for once, just looking up in wonder. One man planted this hillside decades ago. His family pruned, and trained the vines, and waited, year after year. Fifty years of patience. Fourteen days of bloom. A whole glowing tunnel of color that fills your chest right up. You come out the other side still a little dizzy with happiness.