Everything dies in winter. And then is reborn. Everyone who lives in a cold climate knows deep in their bones that cold and winter are death.

Though if we're going to get stereotypical about national characteristics (a dangerous game) then what might be more specifically Japanese is the particularly heightened understanding of this cycle. Or at least, its expression in art, when in the west we might flinch away.

I'm currently reading Spring Snow, so probably some of Yukio Mishima is drifting into my thoughts here. (Explaining puns ruins them but there it is again: Yuki o. Snow.)