The cactus, which is wrapped all over with
thorns, is lonely, with no intention of leaning. It's just a body play towards
the sun, waiting for water.
A cactus with only the size of a baby's finger
looked at me in the jumble. As if "please take me with you." I just
passed by the staring cactus. I went back, and I took cactus and put it in the
window of the studio.
It reminds me of my friend's husband, a
competent doctor, who brought a bouquet of flowers stuck in an airport trash
can as well. I can't help but admire his commitment to saving lives, whether
they are people or flowers.
My husband's used to blame me for "You
kill the plants just by looking at them," But the cactus that tries to
live in the garbage dumps will grow on it’s own.
His black and white photograph of my husband’s
childhood taken in the shadow of the loofahs hanging in the front yard of a
house are so nice. He grew up on the outskirts of Seoul, where the smell of the
countryside was strong. He grew vegetables in a garden in front of a spacious
house, ran around in a flower garden, and ate grasshoppers. With this memory,
even though he lives in big city New York, he has strong lingering feelings for
plants.
On the other hand, I don't even remember
stepping on the ground. I grew up in an apartment like a matchbox of
cement. I'm afraid that the plants will
die, so I don't think about raising them at all. It would be better to avoid than
to kill. I don't know if it's a cactus that doesn't die without taking care of
it.
The cactus, which has been sitting in the
corner by the window for a long time, has grown to the size of the thumb and is
staring at me. I gave it water. It was bright and lively. Suddenly began to
grow bigger when nutrients were added. The movement toward the sun was bent. I
tied to the wall with thread.
I felt sorry for being alone, so I bought three
or four cactus to make friend. I was anxious to play music and water it. At
last, I looked into the cactus and chatted more often.
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