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On the final weekend of summer break, we visited Atami. On our rainy second day, we found ourselves at Kinomiya Shrine (来宮神社). The stone path glistened beneath the evergreens. As we climbed towards the shrine, the grounds felt ancient and quietly contemporary at once—bamboo, dark wood, thoughtfully designed places to pause over matcha—and at the centre of it all, the great camphor tree. Kinomiya’s story begins among seven camphor trees (クスノキ)—the same kind as Totoro’s great tree. The largest of the two that remain is believed to be more than 2,100 years old. It has endured storms, lightning and, according to legend, an attempt to cut it down. Still, it grows. Walking once around its immense trunk is said to add a year to your life. What stayed with me was not only the tree, but how thoughtfully everything had been shaped around it. Perhaps preservation does not always mean leaving something untouched. Sometimes it means arranging its surroundings with enough care that we are able to see it anew. Back in the studio, I kept thinking about that balance. Nature does not need us to improve it—only to listen closely, and give it room to speak. 雨の来宮神社は神秘的でありながら、現代的な美しさも自然に溶け込んでいました。 多くの人で賑わっているのに、不思議な静けさがあり、大楠のそばに立つと、時間の流れが少しだけゆるやかになるようでした。 自然を守ることは、ただ手を加えずに残すことだけではなく、人が立ち止まり、その存在に気づくための余白をつくることなのかもしれません。
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