true, I'm a brilliant shade of blue, it's all because of you
May 21, 2022
In May 2011, I was diagnosed by my attending physician with a serious illness and told I had a 25% chance of survival.
I spent eight months in the hospital.
On December 16, 2011, I was discharged, having made a full recovery.
Immediately afterward, I went to Kyoto to photograph.
At Shimogamo Shrine, the autumn leaves still lingered.
In 2012, I visited the Kyoto Prefectural Botanical Garden 300 days out of the year’s 365.
I photographed flowers and wildlife throughout all four seasons—camellias, plum blossoms, cherry blossoms, tulips, roses, irises, hydrangeas, and more.
Drawn to the kingfishers, I photographed them day after day.
Even on typhoon days, when almost no one else was around.
I had the rare experience of photographing the kingfishers—usually surrounded by many photographers—all to myself.
Once I felt I had captured the kingfishers thoroughly, I became fascinated by butterflies, especially the great mormon.
The moment I stepped into a narrow path we called “the Queen of the Forest’s path,” I shouted:
"O Queen of the Forest, Nobunaga is here! Show yourself!"
My companion called out, “O Queen of the Forest!”
Then, a magnificent golden-ringed dragonfly flew low across the path—her herald.
Soon, the Queen of the Forest appeared.
But she almost never stayed still.
Only once did she land in front of me—when we were walking along a narrow path branching off the main one.
She perched on a balloon flower jutting into the path.
We had named her the Queen of the Forest, but in truth, she was male.
It was a miraculous moment.
A year or a few years later, I discovered a spot where they would engage in vertical flight displays to impress females during mating season.
It was near a small pond—more of a puddle.
As I followed them and crossed a small bridge over the pond, I spotted one beginning to mate on the underside of a plant branch.
If you’ve seen great mormons mate, you’ll know the sight is truly fantastical.
Once before, I had photographed them mating beneath hydrangea leaves by the lotus pond.
It had been a magical sight.
But this time was different.
He looked straight at me, almost as if saying, “This is the moment you’ve been waiting for. Take all the photos you want.”
And he continued mating, over and over, as if offering himself to me.
A grandmother, mother, and daughter walked by.
Noticing me engrossed in shooting, they looked over and saw the butterflies.
“Oh, how rare! How beautiful…”
They were an exceptionally pleasant family.
A spontaneous and witty conversation ensued between us.
“I could die happy if I could have your daughter for my bride.”
We all burst into laughter.
Even after they left, I kept shooting.
The butterflies seemed to be mating forever.
And then it happened—
I felt as though something had been lifted from me.
A deep realization washed over me—
*"Perhaps life is all about reproduction."
From that day on, I stopped visiting the botanical garden.
(To be continued.)
A few years later, during cherry blossom season, I felt I still hadn’t captured enough.
I remembered the garden’s magnificent cherry trees.
Since then, I’ve resumed visiting, albeit much less frequently.
My main subject became the rose garden.
This year, I began photographing earlier than ever before.
I thought I had already photographed enough.
But yesterday, after finishing my blog work, I invited a dear friend and headed straight to Kyoto to savor the fragrance of the roses.
To save time, we bought rice balls and snacks at 7-Eleven and ate them on the train.
We began viewing from a spot we had always overlooked.
We were stunned by the beauty.
Though I had gone to enjoy the fragrance, I couldn’t stop taking pictures.
To my amazement, I ended up with over 400 shots.
It would not be an exaggeration to call them miraculous—imbued with the very spirit of the roses.
As we were leaving, we heard an eerie and intense cawing from a crow—unlike anything we had heard before.
“This is unusual,” I thought, and headed toward the sound.
A woman, likely a birdwatcher, was filming the crow with her camera while her husband stood beside her.
Soon she said, “Ah, I see. It’s because her baby is here.”
She discovered the chick nestled inside a small shrub nearby.
Simultaneously, another crow across the way was feeding the chick.
“She was trying to protect her baby from me—that’s why she was screeching so loudly, shaking the branches and throwing them at me. It was intense…”
On the familiar path home—the Queen of the Forest’s route—two butterflies appeared.
They didn’t stop at all.
Just as I was about to give up, one appeared right in front of me.
It was a juvenile.
It’s the season for butterfly child-rearing too.
Continuing on, I reached the same spot where, on my first rose garden visit this year, a radiant blue great mormon had suddenly appeared.
And once again, completely unexpectedly, he appeared.
It lasted only a moment—
But I captured it.
I want to share this photograph with the world, set to Reina del Cid’s ♪Candy Apple Red♪.
