A Story About Bees - Kang Yihyun

Below the hill, dry branches are being burned. “Bees dislike smoke.” He hides his face in the smoke and warms himself against the cold. Following him, I join the ranks of an old winter. I cannot settle the smell seeping through my clothes. With both hands buried in my pockets, I grope for a sentence that drifted in from somewhere. Here whenever one tries to find something, it is lost. “Bees actually like smoke.” Each time the sound and the wind change direction, memories surge up my sleeves. One day, a bee lingering at the window could not pass through the glass. To protect the house, I opened the outside.