The day was dropping hints of winter. A blustery wind turning up leaves on suddenly old-looking trees, making them flash silver. Huge bales of rice wrapped in white plastic scattered across fields of gold stubble and puddles and black mud and shoots of green weedy grass nourished by the recent rain. Pale purple and white daisies and other unnamed fall flowers littering the highwaysides.
For the first time in months, I thought to myself, I'm cold. This is not a bad thing. I like being cold – that's why I long ago substituted my birth-home in California with my adopted home, Minnesota.
Little Ha-neul, of the charming smile, in my first grade afterschool class, had a prized new possession: a little chemical hand warmer in the shape of a dunkin-donut, with advertising to match. She was holding it to her neck like a pet bunny. We drew zoo animals in that class, while Mr Choi slept soundly at his desk in the front of the room, despite how loud they were.
The pines on the hills, as I rode the bus home, danced. The sky was gold and pink. I listened to Korn, and Gordon Lightfoot. I stopped at the chuk-hyeop for juice and toilet paper, and by the time I reached my apartment, the daylight was almost disappeared.