The snow in Hokkaido arrived two weeks late this year. For a photographer whose work depends on winter, that is not an inconvenience — it is an obituary.

I have been photographing snow for twelve years. Each year, there is less of it. The landscapes I documented in 2018 no longer exist in the same form. The glaciers I walked on have retreated. The frozen lakes I photographed have become thin enough to be dangerous.

These images are not nostalgic. They are evidence. A record of what winter used to look like, made by someone who was lucky enough to see it before it began to leave.