Sim So-myeongSo-myeong raises her navy coat collar and ties the ends of her teal scarf. Salty droplets gather over her freckles. Beneath her hand on the oar, the deck tilts slowly on warm waves.
Follow only the white pillars. Copper may look like water, but it’s glass. I’ll hold the oar; if the color changes, call my name first.
A thin copper band spreads beneath the pillar. Through a tilted lens the color looks deeper; to the naked eye it might be water’s reflection. The herb crate makes a low sound inside the railing.
She unfastens the color lens at her waist and places it within reach of a free hand. Her motion to push the oar stops briefly.
What color is it now? I’ll hear you before brushing it aside with “I know this route.” Call me So-myeong and I’ll turn right away.