June arrived quietly, the way it always does in the countryside.
The wild raspberries had been slowly turning red for weeks — and one morning, they were finally ready. I walked out with a small bowl and picked them one by one, still cold from the night air. There is something about harvesting something you didn’t plant that feels like a gift.
Inside, I had been working on a small lampshade — woven by hand from natural materials, the kind of slow project that asks you to sit still and pay attention. When I finally placed a light inside and turned it on for the first time, the room changed. Warm, amber, quiet. It was a small thing, but it felt like something.
The roses along the fence have been growing wild all spring. This week I finally put up a proper trellis — guiding them gently, giving them somewhere to climb. There’s a kind of patience in gardening that I keep coming back to. You can’t rush a rose.
In the afternoon, I made tea. I read a few pages. I watched the cats move between patches of sunlight on the floor. 빼빼 settled near the window. 콩 disappeared somewhere and reappeared later, as he always does.
These are the hours I try to hold onto — not because anything remarkable happened, but because nothing needed to.
This is rural Korea. This is what slow living looks like here.
▶ Watch this day on YouTube → 감성찾아삽만리 https://youtu.be/OKllcN_vWdQ
한국어로 읽기
6월은 언제나 그렇듯, 조용히 찾아왔어요.
몇 주째 조금씩 붉어지던 산딸기가 드디어 익었어요.
작은 그릇을 들고 나가 하나씩 땄는데, 아직 밤 공기가 남아있어 차가운 손끝이 좋았어요. 내가 심지 않은 것을 거두는 일에는 묘한 감사함이 있어요.
집 안에서는 손으로 짠 작은 전등갓을 만들고 있었어요. 천천히 앉아 집중해야 하는 작업이에요. 처음 불을 켰을 때 방이 달라졌어요. 따뜻하고, 호박색이고, 조용했어요. 작은 것이었지만, 분명히 뭔가였어요.
울타리의 장미는 봄 내내 무성하게 자랐어요.
이번 주에 드디어 격자를 세워 가지들을 올려줬어요. 장미는 서두를 수가 없어요.
오후에는 차를 마시고, 책을 몇 페이지 읽고, 햇빛 사이를 오가는 고양이들을 바라봤어요.
빼빼는 창가에 자리를 잡았고,
콩은 어딘가로 사라졌다가 나중에 다시 나타났어요. 언제나처럼. 특별한 일은 없었어요. 그래서 좋은 하루였어요.
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