To Korea, in gratitude

For teetering on a small, unsteady
wall of dirt in the middle of a rice field.

For seeing an old man shuffle down a
country road in white wellingtons and

moments later seeing another old man
sitting outside his country house bathing

from a bucket in the late afternoon light.
For the moon reflecting on water so

still between rows of growing plants-
so still that I'm convinced I could lace

up a pair of ice skates and the water's
surface would hold me. For the hard-

wiring of frogs to croak into the night,
believing a mate will select their sound

over that of hundreds of others and
then go even further to find them in the

darkness. For hearing this John Cage-esque
piece of music when I walk home through

narrow paths tucked between farmlands.
For the perfectly tart, cold 매실 juice

served to me in a smooth piece of white
pottery by a woman in folded cottons

and a handkerchief that keeps her jet-black
hair from her face. For deciding to pull

off the wide road home instead to follow a
narrow one back and back into the thick

trees of a hill and for finding deep within
a path, a small waterfall, two traditional

structures, lifted straight from a folktale
about monks in the woods. For layers

of hills playing at India ink prints and for
large scooped valleys storing green for

the summer. For exploratory walks and
for allowing my curiosity to follow the

steps of an old man with a cart, down a
gravel road, and to a bush. For watching him

pluck several bright, red berries and, without
noticing me, watching him toss them into his

old-man mouth and walk away, cart and
all. For deciding to do the same after he

was out of eye-sight. For the tartness of
bright red berries never before tasted.

For pieces of once-white cotton tied to two
tall sticks pushed deeply into the mud of

someone's rice field. For driving past these
two sticks and noticing the wind whipping

the fabric wildly against the backdrop of
verdant green fields and achingly grey skies.

For an unexpected smile from an older
woman, snug in a wetsuit, fresh from the

sea, manhandling the shellfish and the
octopus she just yanked from their watery

homes. For all of this. And any of this.
Any of this that can for a moment, for

a brief and needed moment, allow me to
forget the heaviness on my chest, the

knot in my stomach, the missing in my bones.
For taking me out of this body, this mind, and

showing me the extraordinary in the ordinary.
A million gentle bows to you, Korea. In thanks.