A Leash on Ginkgo Leaves
A yellow leaf fell and settled on the leash. The person didn't brush it off, and kept walking, listening only to the ginkgo leaves underfoot.
Alongside
Level 5I follow a little behind two people walking side by side. The dog looks back first.
개를 산책시키는 두 사람, 가을 공원의 한순간
Mostly Flash fiction, with other forms mixed in, often about everyday life·relationships.
Bag Handles at Midday
The midday sun touched the handles of the bag and warmed them, and the dry plastic gave a small rustle. One handle was held and stretched long, the other was doubled over, creased deep. The two of them pushed and pulled the same bag, twice each. The fingertips of the one holding the heavy side were pressed white, and the fingers of the one holding the light side hung at the very end of the handle. Over those handles, one person's hand was slowly coming down.
Fingertips Brushing Off Leaves
The morning air was filled with the sound of dry leaves breaking. One person knelt and laid a hand on the dog's side. The one beside them crouched down too. The fingertips brushing off the leaves lingered there a long time. The dog lowered its head and licked the back of that hand. Bits of leaf crumbled between fingers and scattered in the wind. One of them picked a leaf off the other's sleeve, then set it on an open palm and looked at it a long while. No words passed between them. Only two hands moving at the same tempo. When the two rose and began to walk, a few leaves rolled after them. Even after they disappeared at the end of the path, the smell of dry leaves lingered in the still-cool air.
The Moment the Leash Changes Hands
It was a leash the morning dew had not yet dried from. Where the leather had worn smooth, two hands brushed past it in turn. The one handing it over didn't slow their hand, and the one receiving knew that speed exactly. As fingers overlapped and parted, the morning air seeped into the gap between them. The temperature of the leash against the hand, that alone was something that made the day begin differently. The warmth of the hand that had rested there a moment ago still remained, through the old leather.
Ginkgo Leaves the Wind Took
The water bottle forgotten on the bench glinted in the morning sun. One of them stopped in front of it again, and the other had already picked it up and sat down first in that same spot. Before the streetlights came on, the evening wind whirled up a handful of ginkgo leaves. The person on the bench watched with folded hands. They brushed off their hands and rose to walk on, and the wind was taking the leaves away again. The two pairs of footsteps moved along too, in the direction the wind was taking the leaves. Behind them, another handful of ginkgo leaves must have fallen and piled up. As the night deepened the wind fell asleep too, and the leaves lay piled beneath the streetlight, holding only their own shadows.
Fingers Winding the Bag's Strap
The morning light moved slowly down the zipper of the bag. Cold air misted the surface of the leather. One strap had come loose and lay touching the floor. The handle held the deep grooves of several years. He picked up the bag to set it between the two of them, and stopped. To set it down would mean keeping a distance; to keep it at his side would mean staying close. There was no way he didn't know that. His fingers stayed on the strap, not moving. I can almost see the fingers loosening for a moment and winding again. In between, the sunlight from the window lay long across the floor. The wish to keep a distance and the wish to be close overlap quietly on a single strap. While the curtain brushes loose in the wind and settles again, where will your bag come to rest today, I wonder. In the end, where he set the bag down, the sunlight moved very slowly. Even after the sunlight passed over the bag, the fingers wound in the strap stayed where they were. Only after the curtain settled did he set the bag down, not on the floor, but a little closer, on the seat beside him.