Strange Tale: The Foxfire Grand Festival

Deep in a mountain valley, there was a small shrine.

Surrounded by layers of cedar trees, the place remained dim even during the day, and people rarely set foot there.

The shrine was dedicated to a god whose very name had been forgotten. The villagers simply called it ‘The Fox’ with a sense of reverence.

And every year, on the night of the new moon in summer, something mysterious happens.

The entire valley fills with pale blue lights that flicker orange and sometimes drift through the night sky with a purple hue.

In the village, they call them foxfires and look up at the mountain, rejoicing that there will be a good harvest again this year.

However, no one knows that those lights are a festival dedicated to the god.

That night, the ‘Foxfire Grand Festival’ was being held in the valley.

It is a festival where foxes offer the foxfires they have polished to the god, expressing gratitude for having survived the year safely.

Behind the shrine lived a white fox. His name was Konzaemon.

He was a veteran who had watched over this festival for hundreds of years.

As the new moon approached, young foxes gathered in the valley and practiced their foxfire.

They would harbor a small flame at the tip of his tail, ride the wind, and make it bloom like a flower.

Some would string them together like a flowing waterfall, while others would color the night sky as if scattering stars.

Konzaemon would say quietly,

‘Foxfire rages when you are angry and scatters when you are impatient. The flame reflects the heart of the one who holds it.’

The young foxes took those words to heart and flicked their tails over and over.

Among them was one little fox who could not get it right.

His name was Konta. This was his first time participating in the festival.

He could light the flame. But when he released it into the sky, its shape would crumble and it would vanish halfway.

No matter how many times he tried, it was always the same.

His companions did not laugh. They all knew that everyone walked the same path at the beginning.

Even so, Konta could not help but feel as though he alone was being left behind.

At night, after everyone had fallen asleep, he would head deep into the valley alone. In a place where no one could see him, he kept waving his tail.

The flames scattered and vanished. Still, he did not stop.

One evening, Konzaemon discovered him there.

Rest now. Your body cannot take it.

Konta shook his head.

I want to show the gods a beautiful foxfire like everyone else’s.

After a brief silence, he added softly.

I do not want to be laughed at.

Konzaemon narrowed his eyes and smiled slowly.

The fox spirits do not laugh.

But then, what is it that they look at?

The old fox looked up at the moon.

It is the heart that seeks to make itself better today than yesterday, and tomorrow than today.

Konta tilted his head. He did not yet fully understand the meaning of those words.

Before long, the night of the new moon arrived. Hundreds of foxes gathered in the valley, and the festival began.

The young foxes release flames one after another.

The shrine bell rang softly, even though there was no wind.

The gods are watching. The foxes brace themselves once more.

Before long, it is Konta’s turn. The flame dwelling at the tip of his tail trembled slightly.

He is afraid. He might fail. Even so, he did not think of running away.

He had swung his tail hundreds of times. There were days spent lighting it, only for it to go out, over and over again.

He knew, at least, that he could hold the flame a little longer than back then. Konta quietly steadied his breath and swung his tail toward the night sky.

The flame was released. As expected, it did not fly straight.

However, it did not go out.

Like taking one step, then another, the flame swayed as it ascended into the sky.

Every time he swung his tail, small sparks — which he had never seen back when the flames would scatter — trailed behind it.

The practice he had repeated for many nights was slowly supporting the flame.

At that moment.

A single gust of wind blew from deep within the mountains.

The shrine bell rang out with a clear, chiming sound.

The flame was not shattered by the wind; instead, it caught the flow.

It slowly split into several streams, spreading out like petals opening one by one.

The pale light drew a circle, and before long, a quiet, massive flower bloomed, filling the valley.

“…It reached them.”

Konzaemon quietly closed his eyes and bowed his head deeply toward the shrine.

Seeing that sight, the foxes also bowed their heads toward the shrine.

Everyone realized that the god had accepted the foxfire.

And even now, on the nights of the new moon in summer, countless foxfires rise deep in the mountains.

The villagers say,

“The foxfire is beautiful again this year.”

It is proof that the fox spirits keep their eyes on those who strive to move from yesterday to today, and from today to tomorrow.

This essay was originally published in Japanese on note. You can find the original version, along with more of my writing, here:https://note.com/noted_cosmos72/n/n1134a97ed3e9