Wow, the moonlight is so bright.
I lifted my head and looked up at the sky.
I must have been six or seven. It was the night I was returning from town with my grandfather and grandmother.
We had gotten off the bus and were walking home along an unpaved road. There wasn't a single streetlight, but that night the moonlight let us just make out the woods and fields beside the road.
To my young eyes, the moon seemed especially large and bright. The road and fields, usually lost in darkness, and even the figures of my grandparents emerged faintly that night.
The wind blew.
The leaves of the firs and oaks along the road swayed, brushing against one another with a soft rustle.
Dry leaves crunched beneath my feet as I walked.
Somewhere a cricket sang. I could hear a scops owl calling, too.
A faint scent of acacia drifted through the smell of woods and fallen leaves. From somewhere came the smell of burning wood, mingling with the earth and compost rising from the fields beside the road.
Grandfather walked a little ahead, and I walked beside him. Grandmother followed just behind us.
Grandfather was a man of few words. I don't remember what we talked about that night.
We didn't hold hands. Each of us walked at our own pace along the same road.
Even so, I wasn't afraid at all.
Because Grandfather and Grandmother were there with me.
I don't remember arriving home that night. I don't remember how long we walked after getting off the bus, or what else happened that evening.
My memory always stops on that road.
At the sight of three people walking together beneath a great full moon.
I still like walking at night.
When the moon is bright, I sometimes look up at the sky. The sound of crickets, leaves brushing in the wind, or a sudden trace of acacia brings that nighttime road back to me.
At such moments, I find myself smiling.
I've told my family about it many times. It is one of my happiest childhood memories.
Grandmother died the year I graduated from high school, and Grandfather when I was a little over thirty.
After I recall a happy memory, a little later comes the ache of missing them.
In my memory, the three of us are still walking.
We walked separately, yet we walked together.
I preserve the days gone by in words and photographs.
Words and photographs by Yeowoon
© 2026 Yeowoon. All rights reserved.