A Full Bleed of Dark
The evening has gotten away from me, and by the time I reach the winding pathway steps to the top of the park's highest point, it is a full bleed of dark. A sliver of a moon gives just a hint of brightness, enough to reveal itself but nothing more. This park is so safe, and yet, I proceed with caution. A tucked away, solitary place, sheathed in the colors and silence of the night, is a portal to lurking unseen tentacles of the cataclysmic unknown.
It can also be the most glorious destination ever, to be sweating away the day's stress, invisible to the world and embracing the solitude and the hum of nature's quiet as another day fades away. Fireflies ignite and light up thoughts of summer evenings long gone but still graspable in the slipstream of memory.
Each step forward brings me closer to the top, the air in my lungs getting tighter, the legs angling to release a grimace, but there's not far to go, I know this. There's an impulse to count the steps, but such calculations have already been completed—my body knows exactly where it is and how far until I reach the plateau.
Finally, I am there, and the familiar, comforting view of the neighborhood's lights down below is eclipsed by the sight of a flowing screen illuminated by a projector. A cool breeze wraps itself around my sweat-drenched body and I register that a sheet has been tied by four corners high up in the trees. On this makeshift screen plays a scene of a woman walking slowly through a field of green in a flowing royal blue dress, her glistening black hair dancing in the wind. She stops, turns to reveal a hint of her face, and stares out into the distance. She is waiting for someone. Or someone has just left, and she is watching him make his departure, which she will continue to do until he is no longer in view. She is hoping he will turn around, or praying that he keeps going. The clouds above rush across the sky. The blue dress ripples. Her black hair lifts even higher with the gathering winds. There is a current of movement all around until finally, she closes her eyes and turns to continue on with her journey. At first my breathing is heavy, my heart pounding, but as I stand perfectly still and watch until she fades away into the landscape, a calmness overtakes me.
Suddenly I am on the screen, watching myself upon the hilltop, though instead of being surrounded by trees in darkness, it is broad daylight, the leaves a shimmering green, the height of the hill pronounced by views of the outstretched neighborhoods below, a bridge in the distance, its destination blurred by the limits of my vision.
I glimpse myself turn away, the light of the screen disappearing into the night, and when I turn back around, I am no longer there.
It can also be the most glorious destination ever, to be sweating away the day's stress, invisible to the world and embracing the solitude and the hum of nature's quiet as another day fades away. Fireflies ignite and light up thoughts of summer evenings long gone but still graspable in the slipstream of memory.
Each step forward brings me closer to the top, the air in my lungs getting tighter, the legs angling to release a grimace, but there's not far to go, I know this. There's an impulse to count the steps, but such calculations have already been completed—my body knows exactly where it is and how far until I reach the plateau.
Finally, I am there, and the familiar, comforting view of the neighborhood's lights down below is eclipsed by the sight of a flowing screen illuminated by a projector. A cool breeze wraps itself around my sweat-drenched body and I register that a sheet has been tied by four corners high up in the trees. On this makeshift screen plays a scene of a woman walking slowly through a field of green in a flowing royal blue dress, her glistening black hair dancing in the wind. She stops, turns to reveal a hint of her face, and stares out into the distance. She is waiting for someone. Or someone has just left, and she is watching him make his departure, which she will continue to do until he is no longer in view. She is hoping he will turn around, or praying that he keeps going. The clouds above rush across the sky. The blue dress ripples. Her black hair lifts even higher with the gathering winds. There is a current of movement all around until finally, she closes her eyes and turns to continue on with her journey. At first my breathing is heavy, my heart pounding, but as I stand perfectly still and watch until she fades away into the landscape, a calmness overtakes me.
Suddenly I am on the screen, watching myself upon the hilltop, though instead of being surrounded by trees in darkness, it is broad daylight, the leaves a shimmering green, the height of the hill pronounced by views of the outstretched neighborhoods below, a bridge in the distance, its destination blurred by the limits of my vision.
I glimpse myself turn away, the light of the screen disappearing into the night, and when I turn back around, I am no longer there.
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Jeffrey Yamaguchi creates projects with words, photos, and video as art explorations, as well as through his work in the publishing industry. @jeffyamaguchi | jeffreyyamaguchi.com
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