I’ve never felt quite so enchanted as on those summer nights in Kyushu, Japan, when tiny lanterns awaken the forest: the firefly season, or Hotaru season, stretches from May through July. I chose Kyushu for its lush landscapes, hoping to catch those delicate glimmers of life dancing in the twilight. In these woods, you’ll find two characters in the firefly tale. The hime-botaru blink in perfect unison, like a chorus of stone lanterns brought to life. The genji drift by, their glow lingering like fallen star trails etched across the darkness. But fireflies are fragile: they sense every change in their world, and in recent years their numbers have dwindled. Some seasons they bless us with only two or three nights of light—and often only local photographers know when the show will begin. I arrived at each secret spot long before the first sparks emerged—hours ahead of the 8 p.m. curtain. t first it was just a handful of hesitant glows, like shy wishes lifting from the bamboo leaves. I felt as if I’d stumbled into a child’s first visit to a Christmas forest: wide-eyed, breath caught, utterly spellbound. Then, as if on cue, the fireflies synchronized. Their yellow-green flashes pulsed through the bamboo groves and around ancient stone shrines, illuminating the woods in a gentle, emerald haze. For a few breathtaking seconds, it was as though the forest itself was breathing—and I was at the center of its quiet meditation. I owe a debt of wonder to Hayao Miyazaki’s films, those tender, philosophical tales that taught me to look for magic in the smallest moments. Inspired by his vision, I captured each night’s dance with two cameras (for just 2 images per day max not counting days I failed to find fireflies) —Nikon Z7 paired with a 58 mm f/1.4, and Nikon D850 with a 24–70 mm f/2.8—both lenses wide open to drink in every glowing mote. Long exposures over 20–25 seconds each, stacked (100–120 frames) in StarStaX, reveal a map of firefly trails.
07.06 21:51