Snapshots of life as a Yeonhui writer in residence

Each day I find a new spot to do t’ai chi.

Steps in the wild gardens of Seoul Art Space—Yeonhui
Steps in the wild gardens of Seoul Art Space—Yeonhui

Up to eight wild cats roam the grounds of Seoul Art Space—Yeonhui. They’re exceptionally sleek and healthy, because while they belong to nobody, they are fed by everybody. I guess that pleases the local birds.

Black and white cat in the grounds of Seoul Art Space—Yeonhui
One of 8 stray cats tended by the kind-hearted staff of Seoul Art Space—Yeonhui

Sometimes I work here, outside, because the weather in early September is perfect. This structure functions as a stand-up desk and (in the early morning when nobody is looking) a gym.

Outdoor seating in the grounds of Seoul Art Space—Yeonhui, with laptop and waterbottle.
Outdoor seating in the grounds of Seoul Art Space—Yeonhui

Today I found a flower/weed that I’ve never noticed before: it’s an orange mini-morning glory, or convolvulus (I think.) Significant because I see the purple morning glory as a sort of symbol of this late phase of life. What is this tiny, less showy and no less ephemeral flower trying to tell me?

Tiny orange morning glory threading across a green bush
A tiny orange morning glory, I think

10 thoughts on “Snapshots of life as a Yeonhui writer in residence

  1. How very interesting! I had thought the place would feel “foreign”, but it does not, it feels “human”, at least as far as still images can provide a feeling.
    It is a pleasure to follow your process. I’ve often been in wonder at how writers write, could never quite master the process since my first and last short story in Grade 6, well received by the teacher, severley received by my family.

    Liked by 1 person

      1. I agree, every place there are humans is a human place.

        I was taken with the familiar way in which humans have interacted with the natural world Seoul Art Space—Yeonhui, I didn’t know what to expect. There are ways of living with the landscape that are unfamiliar, and those places don’t feel “human” to me, as they offer no immediate physical or psychological comfort.

        I spent a week in the Hudson Bay Lowlands in Canada, far from any human activity, human sounds. At first it was unfamiliar, stark, unwelcoming, but within a few days I acclimatized and felt a peace I had never before experienced, and the landscape shone with a new beauty, the silence sang.

        Liked by 1 person

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