In the midst of the lupins

𝙸

I always had strange feelings. They filled up in my head gradually, when almost every Saturday my mother and I got on the bus and set off on the usual route. Then these mysterious feelings overflowed my mental cup and poured over me from head to toe. It was a warm wave of melancholy and boredom, excitement and joy. And I clearly remember their taste even through long months — the honey taste of the sun.

In my memory these forests and plains, a lonely and quiet Garden: ever green, lemon yellow, clear, that I involuntarily screw up my eyes. They remain radiant even on days when it is raining or snowing outside, like today. I look out the window and see the edge of the Garden. A little more and we'll be there. Listened to songs play in the ears, mostly without words. I put my player in my pocket and follow my mom out the door.

I am pure in body and soul, step on the curb with a confident foot and understand, here it is, my forever living corner. A place in my heart where I am infinitely happy. Although in a noisy city, in the bustle of people — all this does not prevent me from entering the blooming Garden. Through the gate I dive into the white spaces. Mom and I go around the guard house, walk past the bare forest, wooden benches and find ourselves at the lake.

"There he is, sitting."

I glanced at the direction of my mother's hand. In the distance, all alone, in the whitening surface, sat my father. Fishing in any season of the year is a common thing for him. All this time, while we were walking towards him and watching from afar, his fishing rod stubbornly explored the hole made by the drill.

"The fish seem to be biting badly. Let's go!"

Our leisure time was divided by a winter day under a canopy of gray skies, heavy snow and silent silence. It seemed that not a single branch would move. Anyone, even like this, I love this forest for a very long time, very much.

When I was 6 years old, my dad took me fishing with him in the spring and summer days. He showed how to put the bait on the hook so as not to be pricked, cast the rod and when to pull it out. I quickly learned from him. Quite a bit, but a couple of times I still went fishing on my own. Of course, under his leadership. In winter he fished without me. And on those days, I couldn't bear his absence. And over the previous year, my fear of childhood has increased much, however, as well as myself.

Last year, right here in this lake, 3 people drowned. And my dad said so: "This is all by negligence! For whom were the signs "do not dive" and "do not step on thin ice" hung?" But this did not prevent him from going on the ice himself against the rules. I subconsciously felt that this was not good (what if some fisherman made a hole and, without remorse, sprinkled it with a pinch of snow). My restless heart was comforted by the words: "Your dad is a professional in this matter" but only until the next time. When my mother and I returned to the lake, I was covered with chills.

"Relax, Myeongsoo. Let's have some hot tea," mom took out her favorite thermos.

By the way, about the troubles that happened in the forest... I suddenly remembered one conversation during today's walk. A long time ago, there was a murder here. Woman, 30 years old, stab wound. She was found in the bushes by the smell of decomposition. She lay there for quite some time. But all my mother's speeches were inclined to the fact that this was such a time — not easy and criminal. And that's why the unfortunate incident didn't frighten me in the slightest, or even shock me.

I looked into the distance and thought about killing a woman, but my vision was immediately blocked by a thick sandwich.

"Eat," mom said, holding out a sandwich.

In autumn we come here for mushrooms. And no matter what time, but I always photograph the landscapes presented by the forest, the botanical garden and miniature houses on the opposite bank.