Lake Ashi I chased the mist across the lake and lost track of time

At dawn in early November, I was looking out over Lake Ashi. Once I’d stepped out of the car, the surface looked much calmer than I’d expected. Across the water, a thin mist drifted slowly past the reflection of the mountains. I was about to say, “It’s cold,” but before I could open my mouth, I was lost in the view.

I held my coat collar with one hand and stayed to watch the lake a little longer. The cold air caught me off guard, but I didn’t want to leave. As I followed the mist moving over the surface, the reflection of the mountains slowly changed.

I drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. My breath appeared in a small white cloud in front of me. “Oh, I’m making mist too,” I thought, and laughed to myself. Compared with the mist over the lake, my own cloud was only a tiny puff. Still, it made me feel part of that cold morning.

After a while, the sky began to lighten. The mist stayed low over the water, drifting slowly along. Its shape changed from one moment to the next, so I kept following it with my eyes, wanting to remember the view just as it was. I thought about taking a photo, but for now I just wanted to keep watching.

I turned a little, ready to head back to the car, then looked at the lake one more time. The mountain outlines were clearer now. I meant to leave, but my feet stopped again. As dawn brightened, the cold mattered less; what mattered was not missing a moment.

I let out one last deep breath and pulled my coat collar into place. Just saying I’d seen the lake didn’t feel like enough. I wanted to remember the mist moving, the sky growing brighter, and that moment I didn’t want to leave. Even after I got back in the car, I found myself looking out the window once more.