[An Essay from My Heart]

Spring Dreaming Beneath the Moonlit Snow

After the snowstorm has passed, the night grows taciturn. Upon the fiercely cold, white earth, moonlight settles quietly into the backyard, as if the world itself has chosen stillness. The clamor of wind and the fury of the day withdraw without protest, leaving behind only a clear, crystalline silence. In that silence, the moonlight rests upon the snow, wordlessly testifying that the world endures.

From somewhere deep in the mountain village, the faint scent of a hearth fire drifts in. An unseen ember declares that even within this merciless winter, human breath and warmth persist. Against the vast, frozen land, that fragile trace of heat stirs the heart all the more. Life, perhaps, is always suspended between such extremes: the harshness of reality and the tenderness of solace, despair and hope sharing the same landscape.

The bare trees stand stripped of leaves, swaying gently in the cold. Their silhouettes seem forlorn, yet I know they are not lifeless. In their quiet vigil, they dream of spring. Deep beneath the frozen ground, the promise of new shoots is already being prepared, cradled in silence. Winter appears to take everything away, but it may in fact be the season of the deepest preparation.

Then, from afar, the indistinct cry of an animal reaches the ear. Rising from a realm untouched by human language, the sound assures me that the night is not empty. Even in stillness, life calls out to life, confirming its place in the world. Hearing it, I am reminded that I am not the center of this landscape, but merely a part of it. The realization makes me smaller, yet strangely at ease.

In the deepening sorrow of winter, questions finally surface. What does it mean to endure? What does it mean to wait? The snowstorm passes, and the bitter cold will one day recede. Yet the time spent moving through such severity is never in vain. Like this silent night standing firm beneath the moon, a human life, too, is tempered slowly through moments of wordless reflection.

No path is visible upon the white earth, yet the direction toward spring is unmistakable. At winter’s far edge, I learn once more: it is in the coldest moments that warmth and hope shine with their clearest light. ***

February 46, 2026
 
 

At Sungsunjae (崇善齋)

{Solti}

한국어 번역: https://www.ktown1st.com/blog/VALover/348359