Autumn Spreading on the Water
The moment a single leaf fell, its ripple stilled everything else. The lake grows calm again, and only the red glow on the surface slowly spreads.
Shimmer
Level 6Sit by the water and I stay a long while. I take down how the water receives the light.
강·호수·계곡, 물가에 앉은 사람의 눈높이
Mostly One scene, with other forms mixed in, often about the seasons·everyday life.
A Drop on a Lotus Leaf
A drop of water pooled on a lotus leaf rolls along. It pauses a moment at the leaf's edge, and when the wind comes, rolls off toward the other side again. I'm sitting on a bench by the pond, watching. The rain has just stopped, so only the plunk of a falling drop comes clear. Each time a drop falls and the ripples spread, the road I came along a little while ago trembles in its reflection on the water.
Feet Sunk in the Current
The valley stream brushes past my ankles and flows on down. Where the current touches, a small fish passes by. In that moment, watching the fish brush over my foot and go on down as if nothing had happened, I think that I might be allowed to pass like that too. Once, I was waiting for a bus beside a valley stream. Someone perched on the rock across the way had taken off their shoes and put their feet in the water. Until the bus came, that person never lifted their head. That person, feet in the water while waiting for the bus, must have been like the fish that brushed over my foot. Watching the current come down, I want to sit on that rock too and put my feet in for a while. Morning light trembles on the surface, and under the water are the fish's shadow and the tops of my feet, together. I didn't move for a long time. Only where the fish had passed did the water ripple and settle again. That settling holds me a long while. The water still brushes past my ankles and flows on down. With my feet in that current, I spend a morning chasing nothing at all.
The Calm Where It Sank
The valley stream brushes past my ankles and flows on down. Where the current touches, a small fish passes by. In that moment, watching the fish brush over my foot and go on down as if nothing had happened, I think that I might be allowed to pass like that too. A stone slipped from under my foot, and there was the sound of it sinking into the water. Even after the surface closed, that one spot stayed strangely calm. I stood a long time looking at that calm. After the surface closed over where the stone had sunk, while that calm stood there, I listened to the current passing over the stone, glinting. I didn't move my feet for as long as that sound went on. The sun tilted little by little, and the shaded water's edge grew cold. The water still brushed past my ankles and flowed on down, and with my feet in that current, I spend a morning chasing nothing at all.
Streetlight Spreading on a Door Handle
On the way to work with only my earphones in, I never got around to choosing what to listen to. I only want to block the noise, but my mind won't settle on any channel. I, too, have started wearing earphones with nothing playing more and more. On the bus, with the scenery slipping past the window without a sound, that was when I could finally hear my own footsteps. That sound is clearer than any music, yet it never lingers for long. Only after the bus left the stop did the window go quiet, and what remained in my ears was not the engine but the stillness of that place. The evening wind brushed past the window and moved on. Different from the door sound you heard, what I hear is the woman at the kiosk opening her door each time the light changes at the crosswalk in front of the market. That door never slides at the same speed, and the day's weather shows in the angle she takes the handle. After the kiosk door closes, before the streetlights come on, the street goes quiet for that brief instant. The traffic light's glow is spreading across the wet asphalt. The sound that stays after the kiosk door closes, I think I know that instant too. By the time the streetlight spread across the rain-pooled asphalt, my hand was already on the door handle.
Sandbar Morning
It was a morning in late autumn when the water parted in two before the sandbar. Stepping off the bus, I looked toward where the heron stood, and then saw only the water going on flowing.