Red Peppers
The morning sun tapped each of the peppers spread across the yard. The seeds rustled, and a little red that hadn't yet dried still remained.
Beyond
Level 5I walk the alleys. I stop a moment before whatever has come over the wall.
골목을 걷다 만나는 담장 너머의 것들 — 넘어온 가지, 대문 앞 화분, 넘어오는 냄새
Mostly One scene, with other forms mixed in, often about everyday life·small tastes.
The Way the Laundry Leaned
Seven in the morning, and the laundry hung along the rooftop railing had all leaned to one side. The white quilt was pressed right up to the edge, as if one more gust would send it over. Looking up at it, I suddenly thought: maybe that person, too, wanted to walk a little today. While the wind rested, the shadow of the clothesline drawn on the rooftop floor. Between those shadows the sunlight wavered this way and that, and I was watching only my own tail. Seeing the quilt swell and settle little by little inside that shadow, even while the wind rested, the laundry was very much alive.
Water Bowl
The midday sun drew a round patch of light on the ground. The water in the bowl had gone down a little. It was the place where someone's day had passed by half a day or so. Looking at the bowl, I thought of the shade where the cat's throat would have moved as it drank. That house has never opened its door to me, but in front of it, someone's day is always alive.
Clothesline
I, too, looked up once at the sky over your way.
Steam Over the Wall
Half past six in the morning, and the smell of doenjang stew rose from over the wall. For as long as I breathed in that smell, even an unfamiliar alley felt like an old house.
Purslane
The rush of footsteps had not yet cooled, and already the road had returned to its own pace. I walked a long way at that pace.