The Winter Wind

by Jo Curtain

Seosomun Shrine History Museum and Park, Seoul

Stark winter bites. Gravel crunches underfoot. I take the longer route—there is always something more to see. Brittle brown tufts mark the names buried under frost-covered ground. 

a cold wintry wind
frozen shadow on the ground
meditating cat

I’m not sure what to expect. How does a building embrace history? In the sleet, my mind slips away with the ghosts that hover between the lines of brick walls—red soaked because nothing could stem the flow of blood. A pious wind carries the stilled voices. Lines and lines drawn. Sliced flesh. Tendons. Muscles are memories held in the land.

this sacred ground swells
slowly unravels layers
to tell the stories

I am here to listen. Your slow, serene paths move amid light and shadow. Heavy with knowledge. You take me on a journey underground and I learn stories of resistance, survival and hope. I let your quietness guide my thoughts and find comfort.

the winter light touches
hidden brittle scars
the cat’s shadow rests