Typhoon

White waves come driving into the wide sea.

A black cliff thrusts its head toward the sea, and on the ridge above it a horse and a row of trees stand.

Between the cliffs a single white stream pours down, and far off Hallasan rises low.

On the right shore a person crouches small.

There are two ways to face the wind: to stand against it, or to go with it.

What stands upright breaks first.

The trees on the ridge lie down together, following the wind.

They are not losing; they have chosen to live.

The crouching person is the same. Crouching is no shame. Even when a large tree breaks, what crouches survives.

Endurance is not defeating the wind. It is bending together enough not to break. Bending that way, they remain to the end.