91 days: Gardener’s Hands

Today I walked through the narrow streets of Bukchon Hanok Village, a serene escape from the bustling city. The air was crisp and the sunlight softened the colors of the tiled roofs. The old hanok houses stood proudly, their curved eaves reaching up to the sky like gentle waves. As I walked along, I came across an elderly gentleman named Mr. Park. He was sitting in front of his hanok, tending to a small garden filled with bonsai and chrysanthemums. I stopped to admire the meticulous arrangement, and he kindly offered me a seat.

We swapped stories-his of growing up in a house that witnessed the city's changing tides, and mine of travel and art. His eyes lit up as he talked about his childhood memories in Bukchon and how the place had changed over the decades. I sketched a quick portrait of Mr. Park in the middle of his garden, his calm presence complementing the tranquil setting.

I left the village feeling inspired by the resilience and grace of these traditional homes in the heart of a fast-paced metropolis. Mr. Park's stories lingered in my mind, a reminder of the quiet strength of preserving history in the midst of change.