Typhoon

Across the top, a thick line divides sky from sea. Above it floats a small boat. Below are a low thatched house and a horse with its head bowed.

The wind has already passed. The painting is quiet. But its memory remains in the swept grass, the pressed-down roof, the bent back. Quiet is not necessarily recovery. Just because the marks cannot be seen does not mean they have healed.

The human body is no different. Even after the storm has passed, its wind remains somewhere in the body. The back of someone standing as though nothing has happened in fact says the most.

Even when the wind is gone, the place that endured it remembers for a long time.