SPRING SMILE
The song, Here Comes the Sun, has been on a loop in my head lately. With its melodious acoustic guitar twang and treble-heavy drums, it’s a cheerful spring tune. And spring has finally arrived. After suffering through the cold winter, the first in many years, even as an amateur winter-ian, I can now see how welcoming spring is. A long sick bed is kind of what winter felt like for me, all while trying not to sound too dramatic. If our house plants are any clue, after surviving the gloom and chill, you can almost hear the collective sighs of relief from our house friends as they grow new leaves.
Our house didn’t get much sun during winter since we face north, plus the sun flies low. It was almost as if the sun too was avoiding the frigid. A few weeks ago, I noticed we started getting morning sun rays coming through the south-facing windows. Like a cat basking in sunlit warmth, it’s enough to lift my mood and boost my spirits. My breakfast moved from my usual spot at the kitchen dining nook to the dining room, where we get the most sun in the mornings. The arrival of the sun makes me merry—I realize that all over again.
My town is coming alive, too. More people are out and about. Farmers, who know a thing or two about changing seasons, started tilling the ground at their own secret pace, and, as if taking a cue from them, our neighbors began the yardwork, one by one. The land that was laid bare and seemed wasted is turned over, showing its healthy dark brown color, ready for some action. Even my wife and I, who are not green thumbs, talked about possibly planting some spring flowers in our flower patch garden, joining the spring movement. In the daily café scene, people seem to be more jovial and wear less black.
Conversely, the colors began to sprout, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. It is a wondrous sight to behold. In our town, we started to see white and pink plum blossoms by the Bukhan River, bright yellow forsythia dotting the roadside, and cornelian cherry trees in foggy yellow. Along the rivers, willows are freshly draping themselves in fluorescent green to cover their winter bareness. In about a week or so, there will be an explosion of vibrant colors led by the main attraction of early spring, the cherry blossoms.
We were first lured to Yangpyeong by the majesty and fleeting beauty and the “flower haze” of the cherry blossom trees back in 2021. The flower haze creates a vision of misty white clouds from afar, floating in the air. Then there is the snowstorm of cherry blossoms, signaling the end of its evanescent early spring. I remember driving in such a snowstorm, hypnotized by its ephemeral beauty. The word saku in Japanese means bloom (Sakura aptly refers to cherry blossom trees in Japanese) and is related to the word smile.
“Colors are the smiles of nature,” wrote a poet, Leigh Hunt. During the festive week, we were invited by our friend Chef Lee to picnic at the National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art in Gwacheon. Delighted, we cleared our schedule and enjoyed the company and the exceptional museum, as it was our first visit. We were wowed as we discovered a few Korean artists who showed the kind of flair and vision we resonate with. Oh Chiho was one of my discoveries. He wrote, “Color is light itself, and light is the source of life. Therefore, color is nothing short of a joy to living things.” In Korean, “색채는 곧 빛이요, 빛은 곧 생명의 원천이다. 그렇다면 색채는 생명체에 대하여 '기쁨'이 아닐 수 없다.” What remarkable discovery and insight!
The image of nature smiling and signaling that spring is finally here warms my heart, not to mention my body. After the hard laborious work of the summer, farmers hope that the early spring smile will lead to big, hearty laughter as they harvest in the fall.
In our world today, it is hard to find reasons to smile.
However, nature does not budge from smiling and is trying to remind us of all that
Spring is finally here.