Down here, halabeoji had told her, on a 

level almost with the water, she could 

follow with her eyes the ceaseless, 

swelling passage of Ulleungdo’s depth. 

They were miles wide, breathing back 

and forth against the white sand, ushering 

in cascades of retreating water. The sea 

would now disappear into darkness along 

with the tides, burying groups of coiled sola 

kkeobjil and hyeonmuams beneath layers of 

gritty sand, plastering strands of seaweed 

knotted on the shores they could not leave. 

And when darkness was to finally flow around

the beach like a tide coming from the bottom 

of the sea, halabeoji stood ankle-deep in the 

warm water, watching as his granddaughter 

carried buckets of water back into the village. 

The last lights in the neighborhood insist on 

dimming, and a flurry of wind made the palms 

talk, the silence so noticeable.