What do you say persistent attempts of seeking out fireflies every night, in a remote forest beside Kyotaki River in the outskirts of Kyoto, and with no company? You might say it’s a sort of insanity. But I say it’s a pure, precious joy — the joy which I might never know tomorrow if tomorrows never came to me.

Recently I am often afflicted by these tiny lovely creatures. I don’t even remember how many times I have been to that forest at night just to see them. Many times I fail. Yet, the more I fail, the more committed. One night, my obstinacy seemingly does me a favor. I see quite a number of them clustering around me!

However, while enjoying their shows long enough, I feel painful to remember that they are to live a very brief life — just for about a week. Do they know it? Obviously they don’t. They have no consciousness for time. Whether that is good or bad for them is baffling, though; they seem privileged enough to enjoy immunity from the captivity of anxiety and frustration we humans suffer, not least by regretting what have already gone, and worrying about what might come up next.

Ha, a lovely one lands on my palm! It looks nonchalant, but soon appears curious, moving around. I make a guess, What possibly is this tiny little thing thinking of? Is it looking for a mate or something else? Despite my proclivity of seeing things only through the prism of natural science, I at this moment I indulge myself, What if this tiny creature can think of more than we can perceive about it; more than merely of its own needs and wants, and of survival and procreation?

Suddenly, the creature takes off, but sadly, falls into the water running wild among the boulders. I can only see the last brightest spark of its luminescent light. My heart sinks. Sadness for whom? I don’t know for sure. Yet, to realize that death is manifest in it — in anything living and breathing — perhaps, suddenly exerts some sort of affinity between us. So sudden is death!

Lying back on the boulder protruded from the riverbank, I take in the opaque sky against which the towering cider trees are silhouetted. Fireflies are still twinkling and rippling; the water gurgling. Summer breezes often caresses my face and hair. Little thought, but much sensation. I feel afresh and glad, and overwhelmingly captivated by each of those enchanting moments and what they evoke.

On a whim, I look at my watch. The last train, when is it? Then I stand up, pick up my backpack and prepare for my return home. Yet my thoughts are still lingering.

Only do uncertainties reign beyond these tiny units of time; so there is nothing wrong with staying at, and enjoying each and every bit of the present. However, I’m still tempted to think that we still need a fictitious world — constantly created and recreated by our imagination — where tomorrows always come and fireflies never die.

Then taking a farewell look at these lightning bugs dotting the night sky, I set off for Saga-Arashiyama Station to catch the last train.