There’s a walking path I sometimes visit during my lunch break, and when I went there this week, the cherry blossoms were in full bloom.

It felt like I was walking through a cloud of soft, fluffy blossoms.

What can I say about walking?

It clears my head and puts my mind at ease.

When the weather is clear, I can enjoy it for what it is. When it rains, I can enjoy the atmosphere of a rainy day.

That’s why I like wandering around.

I can visit a new neighborhood, or even watch a familiar one slowly change.

There’s something satisfying about simply observing.

That’s probably why I like looking at paintings too.

I find it interesting to interpret an artist’s work from my own perspective.

Back in March, I went to an exhibition called Klimt and Ricciotti’s Miracle, and there was a painting like this.

At first glance, it looks like a young child standing with his father or grandfather.

But it felt more like the painting was showing the same man’s childhood and old age at the same time.

The boy has just started making baskets, is dressed lightly, and wears a bright red, short hat.

The man on the right, on the other hand, has made many baskets over the years. His clothes are a little heavier, and his hat has become duller in color and longer in shape.

So I felt as though I were looking at the life of a boy who had spent his entire life making baskets and gradually grown old.

Of course, the artist probably simply intended to paint a boy and an old man weaving baskets.

I also went to an exhibition at the National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art called Poetics of Extinction.

As soon as I walked in, there was a field of soil with someone working the land.

As the name suggests, the exhibition centered around the theme of extinction.

“Works that acknowledge their inevitable decay, works that have decided to leave nothing behind, and works that openly stage their own decomposition are brought together under the name ‘The Art of Decay.’”

It felt like an artistic expression of the way nature and life disappear and reappear with the passage of time.

Since I often walk around Boramae Park, I get to experience the changing seasons quite clearly.

New sprouts emerge, green leaves sway in the wind,

then the leaves gradually fall, and everything becomes barren in winter.

And when spring comes around again, everything comes back to life.

Our lives are somewhat similar.

We all have a beginning and an end.

The difference, perhaps, is that spring comes back every year, while the spring of our lives never comes around a second time.

And we don’t even know when our spring is while we’re living through it.

I went to see Chun-jang at the beginning of March, and there he was, comfortably sprawled out in his usual spot as if he owned the place.

These days, I can’t seem to find him whenever I go.

I guess spring has come, so maybe he’s gone out on a date too.