I can see the movement of the wind.

About a year after moving from New Zealand to Kagoshima, I decided that I would settle down here and create my work.

After that, I started looking for a house to use as a studio.
There were several conditions.

It had to have a large space to place my loom and all my tools.
That space had to be suitable as a studio and as a classroom,
and it had to feel comfortable.
It had to be surrounded by nature.
And, it had to have a field.

I wanted to grow the indigo I use for my work myself, where I could keep an eye on it. There was a field right in front of me. The surroundings were filled with nature, and there was a large space that could be turned into a studio.

“I’m going to love it here.”
I had that intuition and decided on this place.

Since then, I have put a lot of work into it to make it a space that makes my heart dance.

One day, a young elementary school girl who came here asked me,
“Aki-chan, was your house in a Ghibli movie?”
I was somehow happy, and
I wanted to answer,
“Yes,”
but my house was not in a Ghibli movie.
I’m sorry.

This is the second summer I have spent in this studio.

Living here, I feel the seasons with my own skin.
When I open the windows of the studio,
a pleasant breeze passes right through.
The wind itself cannot be seen.
But the leaves on the trees sway.
The branches move.
The clouds drift by.
When I am here, I can see the movement of the wind.

I can also hear the birds clearly.
There are bush warblers, too.
I used to think that bush warblers only sang in the spring.
However, here, they are still singing even in July.
Moreover, they get better at singing as time goes on compared to early spring. Every year, they only start singing well around July, so I wonder if the bush warblers around here are just late bloomers every year.

The nights are also quite interesting.
Since there are almost no streetlights around,
the stars are clearly visible.

One day, I suddenly woke up in the middle of the night.
It was strangely bright outside.
“Wait, a UFO?”
I jumped out of bed and went to look outside.
It wasn’t a UFO, it was a full moon.
I didn’t know the moon could be this bright.
I was surprised by its brightness.

And then, around the beginning of July,
past one o'clock in the morning,
this time, something was glowing outside the window.
Glow.
Glow.
“...What is that?”
A ghost?
Another UFO?
I thought the firefly season had already passed,
and the way it glowed was different from the fireflies I knew.
I was scared and froze.
I was even afraid to open the window.
Going outside to check was even scarier.
I watched the light for a while, holding my breath.
It seemed there was no danger.
I judged that and went back to sleep.
The next morning,
I thought, “Oh, maybe that was a firefly.”
(I decided to think so.)
Once I thought it was a firefly,
I felt that the light was actually quite romantic.

Although I am spending my second summer in this place, there are still many things I don't know.

I take a walk around the house every day.
My usual route takes about twenty minutes to go all the way around.
It’s just walking around the house, but I consider it a luxurious walking course.

On the way, there is a shrine that reminds me of the forest in Totoro. If you go up the side of it, you come out to a bank along the river. When you get up to the bank, mountains spread out before you.
On the left is the river.
On the right are the rice fields.
The rice fields change color with the seasons.
I walk through that scenery and pass through the waterway.
Even though it is the same path, it is different depending on the season.
It is also different depending on the time.
The most dangerous time is at dusk.
Every second, the color of the sunset sky changes.
“What color will it be in another second?”
When I think that, my heart dances.
It would be a waste to go home without seeing this.
I stop.
I look at the sky.
I look to the side.
I look back.
I look at the sky again.
It is beautiful.
The easy twenty-minute course
sometimes turns into forty minutes.

I rarely meet anyone while walking. Once I pass the houses and reach a point where I think I won't bother anyone anymore, I take out my smartphone.
I play my favorite songs on Spotify.
I don't use earphones.
I just play them out loud.
If I'm in a good mood, I sing.
There is probably no one within a hundred-meter radius, so there is no one around.
I believe there is no one.
When I get close to houses again, I stop the music.
I also stop singing.
I walk the same path every day while doing things like that.

And in the spring, bamboo shoots come out.
I love bamboo shoots, so I am happy at first.
However, I can't eat them all.
Bamboo shoots grow incredibly fast.
I go to check on them about every two days, and I knock down the ones I can't eat before they get too big.
Even so, I miss some.
By the time I notice,
some are already over two meters tall.
There was one this spring, too.
To knock down a bamboo shoot that had grown too big,
I hugged it.
I put my whole weight into it.
It wouldn't fall easily.
I put even more weight into it.
“Oh, it’s about to snap,”
I thought, and at that moment,
the bamboo shoot made a loud “snap” sound and
finally broke.
I fell onto my bottom with tremendous force.
I saw stars.
I instinctively put my right hand down,
and injured my right hand.
For me, my right hand is important for weaving, spinning,
and making anything.
I injured that important right hand myself.
I had to wear a cast for a while,
and during that time, I couldn't work as I wanted.
I truly regretted this.
The lesson from this spring:
Don't underestimate bamboo shoots.

I love nature, I love flowers, I love the sky,
and I wanted to live in a place like this.
Now I am living here.

Getting caught by the sunset and not being able to go home, singing on a road where (I believe) no one is around, jumping out of bed thinking a full moon in the middle of the night was a UFO, being scared of an unidentified light (surely a firefly) and not even being able to open the window, and getting a cast after seriously fighting with a bamboo shoot.
I am living here like that.
And I am weaving here.
In front of the studio, the indigo I use for my work is growing.
When the wind blows,

the leaves on the trees sway.
The clouds drift by.
When I am here,

I can see the movement of the wind.