by TaeHun Yoon

They whispered softly,
as if sharing a secret of the heavens:
three veils of summer heat
had entered the night,
layer upon layer,
folding time into silence.

And there she was—
not the pallid earth reflected back,
but something other,
something winged,
a lantern unfastened from eternity,
burning without flame.

Her shape was a wing,
her light a trembling breath,
a pale unveiling
of what could not yet be spoken.

She was tomorrow’s bride,
shy creator,
gnawing gently at the ribbon of her robe,
her colors pressed between teeth,
like hidden prayers tasting of salt and dust.

Above the mountain’s shoulder,
she rose,
sliding like a silver story
released from the lips of the wind.

The mountain bent beneath her weight,
yet did not bow,
only held her shadow
like a vessel cradling water.

And in the stillness,
someone began to walk—
a single figure stepping into the forest,
carrying no lantern,
only the echo of roots and leaves.

The trees received him
as if they had been waiting
for his footfall for centuries.
The hush deepened,
the earth leaned closer,
the night listened.

And the moon—
that winged, shimmering bride—
slid higher,
bearing with her
the unspoken vow of beginnings.

– early autumn in 1972, Jeongok in Gyeonggi Province

[Before Series – 8]