The fires were finally under control, so the road was opened back up. Not everyone knew this, so there weren’t many people around. An ideal situation on all fronts – open roads, no people, upon an expansive land in seasonal flux that had extinguished fire. I arrived in late afternoon, no time for a hike, or to even figure out exactly where I was or the location of the major points of interest. This was a good thing, too, as it was a more direct route to simply pulling over and making my way towards the water. A gigantic clear lake mirroring back an on again, off again thunderstorm is a portal to a realm in which anxiousness and calm slow dance until the sun goes down. I gladly succumbed to the wonder of the quiet ferocity of weather upon a vibrant body of water in stillness. Surrounded by trees upon mountains as far as my eyes could see. I tried so hard to just let myself be there. I dare not say the trivial places my mind went. But there were glimmers of clarity. Getting drenched by rain provided a wonderful assist, because I swear for a moment I was just one with the blur of the pelted, splashing water and the pouring, relentless rain. It wasn’t personal — everything there was swirled together, furthered entwined by the pulsing gusts of momentary winds upon lands that further our understanding of timelessness. The thunder that rang out was our collective reaction. Quickly, though, the storm passed, and I was just standing there, at the water’s edge, soaking wet. I made my way back to the car, turned up the heat, and headed back home.
Jeffrey Yamaguchi creates projects with words, photos, and video as art explorations, as well as through his work in the publishing industry. His writing has been published by Spork Press, Quick Fiction, The Morning News, Alternative Press Review, Clamor, Fortune, The Glut, Pindeldyboz, The Hungover Gourmet, Word Riot and more. His first book was 52 Projects, and he recently released the short film Body of Water.