Slices of Summer

Troops trek down the river pathway, hauling rucksacks, camouflage uniforms, automatic rifles slung across their backs. Some look like teenagers, but none look like boys.

It had rained unrelentingly since I got home the previous day. The river was busy now, rushing west towards Seoul and the Yellow Sea. I was walking east, against the current, towards work. Among the common debris—branches mostly—something else was floating, bits of black in the muddy water, like stray grounds in a coffee cup. Not just a few, but one every few feet, and all about the same size, shape, and color. I took a closer look. They were eggplants. Thousands of eggplants floating down the river.

Giant white wind turbines turn lazily in the mountain breeze, spread out over hilltops like bleached thorns caught in a moss garden. Pastoral animals graze in the lush green mini-valleys which roll in between. Hikers hike the trail that snakes around this place, couples mostly, but also us, a group of twenty teachers, me the only non-Korean. Many photos are taken. We can see the East Sea from here.

People picnic under bridges.

We walk down a creek, after descending a paint-peeled ladder opposite a temple, her shoes in hand, mine hanging from my shoulder, laces tied together. The water is cool on our bare feet and ankles, stones smooth under our toes. Poorly placed steps send spikes of pain shooting up our legs, but we make it, and climb out of the creek victorious.