Yellow Light
The sun sinks low and lies long across the floor. I rest my back on it and wait for the sound of you opening the door.
Sunpatch
Level 4I stay where the sun comes in. Mostly, I just watch.
볕 든 집 안에서 사람 곁을 지키는 고양이의 낮
Mostly One scene, with other forms mixed in, often about everyday life·comfort.
First Snowflake
Where you lingered at the window and left, a single snowflake came down and touched the glass. I watch for as long as it takes to disappear.
Creases
You spread the quilt and folded its corner. I curl up right in the middle of it, so the place you touched creases again under my weight.
Threshold
You paused with your hand on the soup packet you were tearing open. I sit on the threshold and know the warmth of that pause.
Where the Smell of Sun Remained
Sunlight and a towel. You spread a towel and paused your folding hands for a moment. On the warm spot, I moved only the tip of my tail. When your hands moved again, the smell of the towel rode the sunlight to my nose. I stay right where I am. There was a time, taking in a quilt dried in the sun, when the warmth still inside it brushed my face. Even when I turned my head, the memory of lingering long in a place already gone stayed with me. I used to linger a long time in the place where the quilt's warmth had gone. The smell of sun left there is still in my nose. The towel sits folded by the window. The sunlight tilts little by little and slowly leaves it. Only the smell remains as it was, rising quietly each time the wind blows.
The Square on the Hot-Water Bottle
A few heavy drops fell with a plunk, then stopped. Even after the sound ended, I did not lift myself from the lap. I remember the sunlight resting in a square on the back of the hand of someone holding a hot-water bottle, gazing out the window. Each time the curtain stirred, that square trembled, and I watched it quietly. When the sunlight trembled on the back of the hand, I turned my head from the lap. My eyes followed the warm square that came back whenever the curtain stilled, and then it settled onto the windowsill. Dust lay in layers on the sill. Across it the square slowly tilted and, before evening came, touched the wall one last time. The hot-water bottle was lukewarm by then. When I laid a hand on it, only the firm ridges of its surface remained. After the sun went down, I finally got up to boil water again. The smell of the scorched kettle lingered in the room.