Why do you cling to a concrete seawall like you have found your place forever?
Why can’t you be wandering — or be one with the sea instead?
The sea is yet beginning to grow; and small splashes of low tides intermittently kiss you on a lower dyke.
I can see you in your shell spitting water after every splash of sea wave you are stroked with.
You are alive.
What if the sea is even nowhere in sight? Can you survive the scorching heat of the sun?
You seem to be dead when dry and resurrected when hit by the waves.
Is that your permanent abode, oysters? You’re not, little stubborn creations.
Your flesh will soon be rooted up and eaten. Is that what you are called for?
Oysters cannot hear me, for the great waters have come.
I was walking one sunrise in the latter part of the year that passed and I was thinking about the No. 7.
In the street, a man on a T-shirt was coming to the way of my feet: on his front was a print that seemed to jump out into my spirit.
A print of a logo of a TV network!
A step or two and my eyes landed on an ad of a new year calendar by a printing shop.
And my heart throbbed like it knew what it was all about.
Days before the end of the old year, I saw the grandest rainbow I had seen in my life ever -- wide and vivid, it arched from the sea to a big city.
And on the tenth day of the year just birthed, on the same spot as before, two rainbows appeared: one bigger yet pale; the other, slender yet thick.
And side by side with each other, they curved mightily together!
