It’s 5 a.m. in the morning. I pedal my bike hard. My hair is damp and my face is covered with drops of water although I’ve only been riding briefly. The fog shrouds all things from me, and thereby allows me to be completely alone; the fog turns all existing things into an island. Penetrating this fog, I am headed toward Suncheon Bay. The sound of the wind whizzing by my ears indicates the speed of my ride. I left the city behind me and it is quiet, still deep in slumber. The east stream, which runs through the heart of the city, merges from the darkness like a snake. Alongside the bike lane, there is a forest of reeds. It seems that the reeds have not awakened from their sleep either. They have not shaken off the darkness and remain damp in the fog. The reeds persevere in silence, one that was brought about by a tranquility that is not disturbed even by the breeze. When I reach Suncheon Bay after racing along the east stream, I shall be far away from this chaotic world. But I hope I can experience the freedom that isolation provides. What I like about the freedom I feel in the opaque fog is the absence of the smell of violence. I like this freedom that comes from profound solitude and tranquility. Instead of the ravishingly beautiful Suncheon Bay during the day, I prefer the mist-filled Suncheon Bay of the dawn without a soul around.

Suncheon Bay is made up of a tidal flat that is surrounded by ria-(like) shoreline of about 39.8 kilometers. And on this tidal flat, one can find a 30,000 pyeong reed forest. The sea starts where the forest ends. But a vast tidal flat surfaces when it is low tide. On this tidal flat, there is a water pathway that remains hidden in seawater. That which is revealed by what was hiding is more astonishing than it is beautiful. Just like the river that harmonizes with the surrounding mountains as it curves, the pathway of the sea too runs naturally in accordance with the lows and highs of the tidal flat.

The tidal flat is a moving river. It is the river beneath the sea. This water passage demonstrates the beauty of the invisible one who is devoted to its work. The life energy of the tidal flat lies in this water passage.

Suaeda japonica Makino, a type of saltwater plant, blooms in the tidal flat of Suncheon Bay. Starting out as a young bud in the spring, then transforming itself into a red and burgundy hue when summer passes and autumn arrives, this plant changes its color a total of seven times. Forming a colony in the vast tidal flat, the Suaeda japonica offers a different palette of wardrobe for each season. And toward the sunset when the day comes to a close, it shines even more luminously in red with the color of dusk, thus amplifying the beauty of Suncheon Bay.

The reed forest, which forms yet another colony on the tidal flat, looks like it is almost touching the horizon. Gazing at the vast forest of reeds, it appears as though the whole world has come together here. It looks like they are standing shoulder to shoulder, endlessly swaying in the wind, yet standing upright, communing with silence. The reeds blow where the wind blows, never defying anything, surrendering to providence; they become part of the oneness in order to give birth to a greater beauty, not once resisting anything in its humbleness—the subservience of the reed to the laws of nature is what makes the reed truly beautiful. No, to put it more precisely, it is not about beauty but adhering to the truth when one yields to the cosmic way. Only men refuse to follow the truth and instead, want to rule over nature.

I think I now know a little about what the subservience of the reed signifies. That is why I am ashamed when I behold the reed. I am shameful of the time I spent in defiance of the love that was given to me, and having written poetry without years of surrender. At one time, I viewed surrendering as submission. I sang of how I wanted to die, imperiously, rather than live on my knees. However, I now believe that encountering death is not a shameful act, and surrender, too, must be a part of the truth somewhere in its depths.

The name Suncheon means obeying the way of heaven. That is why the name of the city itself strongly signifies a place where people adhere to the order of nature. The beauty of surrender and humility, as they are manifested by the vast reed forest of Suncheon Bay, thus complete the meaning of its name. Like its name, Suncheon is a beautiful ecological city that has co-existed in harmony with nature, and Suncheon Bay clearly proves it.

At last, I have arrived at the dock, the central part of Suncheon Bay. The fog is even thicker than usual. I park my bike and begin taking a stroll through the reed forest. It feels like the mist is permeating through the pores of my face and my body. It is refreshing. In the midst of layers of fog, all that is within 100 meters of my view belonged to me. Like a lost child, I walked along only on the path that was visible to me. This reality, which has severed everything from me, has become my world. I am content with this hour, with this reality of mine.

Kim Seungok Museum

As I walked through the fog, A Trip to Mujin, a novel by Kim Seungok, a writer from Suncheon, came to mind: “No human power could disperse it before the sun rose and the wind from the sea changed its direction. You could not grab it but it was clearly there. It engulfed you and separated you from all distant things. The fog, the Mujin fog, that its people meet every morning, that makes them ache for the sun and the wind.” Mujin, which means “fog dock,” is the setting of the novel A Trip to Mujin. The author seems to have transposed the very landscape of the Daedae Port in the reed forest of Suncheon Bay into his story. He seems to have wanted to state that in order to overcome one’s uncertain grasp of reality, as though one is trapped in the fog and the paradoxes of life, one can only thoroughly live out these uncertainties and contradictions. Going upstream toward the city, one will come across the Kim Seungok Museum and adjacent to it, shrouded in the mist, is the Jeong Chae-bong Museum, which is dedicated to the famous children’s writer.

I crossed the Mujin Bridge that leads to the tidal flat. Underneath the bridge, the water divides the tidal flat and makes a path. It is the water from the east stream that passed through the heart of the city early in the morning. While going over the Mujin Bridge in the fog, I felt like I was leaving behind the mundane world.

There, at the end of the reed forest, dense with fog, is the Yongsan Observatory. But because of the thick fog, I decided to imagine it instead of climbing to the top. One can enjoy a panoramic view of Suncheon Bay from the observatory. The reed forest in the distance is formed like a body of round islands. Like small floating islands against the wave, the reed forest sways to and fro. It is an indescribable kind of yearning that the fluid round shape of the reed forest elicits. It is derived from the softness in the curvature of the reed forest and the simplified, flattened landscape as seen from high up—sort of like your gentle and kind-hearted older sister who lives in the country. It is a yearning for all that is humble and sincere—a yearning for what we are being consistently deprived of because of the fast pace, competitiveness, and materialism brought about by capitalist urbanization. It is a fundamental yearning for humble things. Suncheon Bay itself is about this yearning. I paint a ship sailing away from Suncheon Bay as well as the birds that soar high above; I’m startled by the sound of this ship in my mind. It is quite enjoyable to use the inner screen of my imagination. To instantly visualize images, which are solely for myself to screen, is equal to the joy of writing.

Drawing in my mind the scenes of Suncheon Bay that one might view from the observatory, I walked further along in the fog. Here and there in the forest I could hear the birds that had risen early; shaking off the dampness from their feathers, they are probably remembering their dreams from the night before. They are maybe thinking of another long journey that they have to take. Many birds from Suncheon Bay migrate to Siberia or Australia depending on the season. Suncheon Bay is a mid-point stopover for these migratory birds to rest their weary bodies. It is a resting place for them to replenish their bodies that have lost half of their weight from flying across the ocean. Suncheon Bay provides the best possible layover and food for these fatigued birds. With abundant prey that the enormous tidal flat proffers, and the comfortable sleep that they can get amongst dense reeds, Suncheon Bay has become a most luxurious hotel for the birds. In short, it is a veritable oasis for them.

Approximately 160 different kinds of migratory birds are found in Suncheon Bay. Among them, there are 17 that are registered in the international treaty CITES (Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species of Wild Fauna and Flora), including the Saunder’s gull, the stork, the blackfaced spoonbill, the Swinhoe’s egret, and the hooded crane; and also birds such as the Saunder’s gull, the tadorne, the gray-tailed tattler and 15 others, which are officially listed in the Ramsar Convention (the 1971 Convention on Wetlands of International Importance Especially as a Waterfowl Habitat). The hooded cranes, of which there are only about 10,000 left in the world, also prepare for their winter in Suncheon Bay. There is plenty of prey to feed on in the low and high hills around the tidal flat and the quiet surrounding farming villages and agricultural lands. Moreover, the area remains uncontaminated thanks to the profuse inflow of seawater from the islands in the outer sea. Surely, Suncheon Bay is a paradise for the birds that migrate from Australia all the way to Siberia. For them it must be the best place in nature.

Birds have to fly from when they are born until they die. Flying is what their life is about. They exist not for destinations like Australia or Siberia but because they must fly. That is because life is not about a purpose but the process. What could be the destiny of birds that must flutter their wings until the day they die? Do they know themselves? If it isn’t the purpose of people to get old and meet death, then what actions are we too destined for? Do we live our lives, aware of what that is? These are the questions I always ask myself when I see soaring birds at Suncheon Bay. But the answer I always get is one I do not understand. Chirp, chirp. What flies must fly. Chirp, chirp. That which walks is what walks. Chirp, chirp.

I stop walking and look around to see that the fog has been somewhat lifted. Before long, the tidal flat will show itself and one will be able to see the Suaeda japonica on the surface, like a carpet of red. The flock of birds will ascend to the sky from the red rug along the water passage. And a blazing fire will gradually rise from the sea at the edge of the tidal flat. The reeds will brush against each other, and the sound of people will carry across the tidal flat, the reeds, and the flock of birds. The fog will disappear and another day at Suncheon Bay will begin. I push the pedals of my bike hard and ride toward the city, leaving Suncheon Bay behind me.