Moth and Crow
writing, collage;
some very rough pieces,
in progress —
07
From mid Autumn to early Winter if it is not raining, then it is burning.
A daily ritual. The skies will be filled with plumes of smoke, the smell of a forest shedding.
When Moth brushes her teeth, she tastes hardly the peppermint. The smoke had dulled her senses, to feel only mush on her tongue. And in the early morning, when the mist lies thick near the ground, it traps the odours to stew in the clothes they had hung out to dry the night before.
06
That night the moon was reddish and pale, shaped like a forced smile.
Wisps of cloud dotted the corners like spittle as though it was speaking with strained courtesy.
Moth woke to the neckband of her shirt soaked in sweat.
The humidity was at a tipping point in their room. She continued to lay there at first, eyes toward the ceiling.
She stole at glance at sleeping Crow who had abandoned the summer duvet — fabric tousled against his side — then gently moved across him to slide open the door into the garden. Fresh air drifted into the room, but it was hardly pleasant.
In the sky the moon appeared dark red; the delicate curve of its cheek protruding under streaks of cloud. She watched it, hand once again moving towards her sweat-gummed skin.
It was then she heard it. What seemed like a low whistle at first threaded into screeching, and quickly the din became so great it started to press about her. It did not touch her, but threatened to split her, shaking her teeth, ears and head so that her eyes bounced and vision became not her own. Within the immensity she searched, eyes darting frantically to find something solid, finding nothing but the red moon.
It was the red moon - it was coming from the red moon!
The sound drew out to a long rumble, as if mountains were collapsing and groaning against her shattering body. She pressed her palms against her ears, forcing the top to a downward fold, and she thought for a good few seconds that she would probably be able to snap them off painlessly; it would be as natural as snapping a biscuit in half.
Eventually, she let out a shriek to shake her delirium, and dived toward the yo, slipping underneath the covers.
“You feel it too?” She felt hands pull her towards him and found comfort in his warmth despite the night’s malaise.
“It sounds awful…”
“Ah, so you can hear it.”
“What is it?”
“The earth, I think,” He hesitated. “The shifting plates, the weather, the power stations boiling out at sea…. Not everyone can hear them, we Crows feel it.”
“I - I don’t understand.”
“Well, The City had always blocked it out for us. I’ve thought about this a lot, especially how difficult it must be for the Nocturnal to experience it for the first time.”
“And this is supposed to be normal?”
She could feel him shrug.
Moth pulled the covers off. She turned toward the garden, scanning the sky. It was now silent.
The red moon, ringed by an orange flare, pulsated under more cloud.
A cold drip slipped down the back of her throat, and finally she thought she caught the slight sound of waves at the shore.
The ongoing rains make the days feel balmy, the nights are brightened by the fog.
The peach tree in the courtyard oozes resin from its wounds. It is unable to expunge the excess of rainwater from within, so it swells, bubbling and forming tawny, gelatinous globs on the surface.
Today Moth has been collecting the peach resin.
“Please don’t eat it. It’s sick, I think,” Crow muttered . “You’re supposed to trim the branches in the cooler season, but… no one has done it for years. That’s why it never fruits properly; the leaves end up curling and the buds eventually crumble into small black stones. We mostly enjoy it for the flowers and falling petals.”
While it is commonly used in traditional medicine (복숭아나무 진액) with claims of the ingredient boasting anti-aging and collagen rejuvenating properties, Moth has other ideas: make a crude glue, varnish, binder for inks? Perhaps even a resin alternative to encase little flowers and leaves.
For now she remains undecided, so it will sit and dry and eventually harden into amber crystals. She wonders how long it would take?
Her plan is to eventually clean it by removing the bark and dirt. In order to do this, she had read it's preferable to allow it to soak overnight so it can expand its size. This will help loosen the grit while rinsing it through.
Here, Outside, only one single lamp weakly illuminates our front trail. The darkness swallows us as we move further away.
To help place our footing, listen to the chirr of The Crickets; to avoid falling into the pond, move away from the croaks of The Frogs. And if you’re lucky, we grasp onto the pale glow of a full moon to see, even the light from a gibbous moon can be helpful.
With the moon waning, it rises later into the night.
As they prepared to sleep, it would be hanging above them, and half their bedroom will be lit. She wondered if the moon had brought its surface to them on its light beam. She will delight in it, allowing it tint her skin so that her body looks not her own, but of a sculpture’s.
One night as the dull moonlight that peeked over the wall, she had suddenly become very aware of herself and how her body was perceived by him. The layer of veins under her skin seemed so suddenly distinct on her legs. Even the wallpaper looked like it had its own veins; pale green rivulets running through watery milk.
“What’s wrong?”
He moved closer, and she hesitated.
“Not tonight?” He continued.
The moon had drifted higher now.
“The light will not be here forever,“ she could see him faintly gesture to their duvet, the texture looked like craters. “It will move across the sky, and soon it’ll be completely dark again.”
oh, the crescent moon.
Above: JOURNAL 1 , Studies of the moon and sky; new moon to waxing gibbous.
Crow threw her a disapprovingly look.
“Look’s like Omma has been in to organise the place to help us to move in.”
As they started to unpack, Moth flicks the light switch in their room. A dull, yellow glow barely escapes the frosted bulb above them.
Moth pauses. She slowly surveys the ceiling before flicking the switch off, then on again.
Crow looks up from their luggage.
“Moth,” his voice was gentle. “Remember, the switches don’t work like the ones back in our apartment. You can’t change from Day to Night as you please here.”
Moth furrows her brow.
“The switch in this room helps add a bit of light if it’s too dark. If you want the Night, you need to wait for it.”
“Oh… that’s right,” Then excitedly. “Can we wait for it?”
“Well...” Crow exhales he glances over toward the window. “It’ll be your first Night wouldn’t it? Sure, let’s do that. ”
Above: PHOTO, The weather station on the mountain
Today Moth had decided to sleep in a little.
She had tamped herself under three blankets; enough to block out the rising glare of daylight.
Pressed down, resting on top of the yo, she imagined herself a burial mound, and any breeze passing through will ruffle the soft grass on her back.
Last evening, Crow had leaned into her request. He had hesitantly agreed to give her some time alone to adjust to the day.
Shortly after marrying, they had made the decision to move to his hometown by the sea. It was far outside the City.
There amongst thatched houses was Crow’s childhood home; part modernised with brick and concrete. The only thing untouched was the stone wall that embraced the perimeter of a tiny garden with a peach tree.
After waking, Moth changes into a T-shirt and loose cotton pants. She then neatly folds and tucks the bedding into the large square cupboard at the side of the room. The house was quiet, Crow likely elsewhere.
Leaving their home, she follows the winding road up the mountain towards a weather tower at the peak. When she tires, she pauses under the shade of a large pine. There was little traffic other than the odd truck barrelling downhill. Apart from the handful of locals, hardly anyone were around; it’s the end of peak season after all.
She pauses to admire the distance, looking over the tiny coastal town. The inlet is dotted with a handful of pensions, local diners, one bathhouse and a mart.
Above:
SKETCH LEFT, Lesser Solomon’s Seal, 둥굴레, Polygonatum odoratum, native Perennial,
whole plant can be consumed, roots dried to make tea (a common beverage!)
coloured pencil on coloured paper, sketchbook
SKETCH RIGHT, Korean Mountain Magnolia, 산목련, Magnolia sieboldii
Above: Rapeseed thicket on a farm.