Milkweed

                                                                                                                                Oh Kil-soon

                                                                                                              Trans. Koh Hyun-soo

“What is this fragrance?”

The fresh aroma coming through the crack in my bathroom window was from flowers clinging to a vine on the fence. The flowers sent me a sweet and refreshing smell from just 1.5 meters away. Would a diligent farmer working in the intense heat feel the same way? I greeted the dangling, thumb-sized clusters of milkweed flowers with a smile of love.

I might have been interested in the milkweed because of its pollen or its fragrance. It might have been because of the winged seeds, which look just like a goblin’s club, flying from the unhandsome fruit. When the small seeds emerge like precious baby boys, their fragrance dazzles like lanterns, and they float away to fill the world with their lovely scent.

Milkweed plants reproduce through pollen just as dandelions do. The numerous seeds piled up in the finger-sized body give me a sense of awe because the natural order of the seeds stacked like silk thread cannot be imitated by human hands. As they drift away, the seeds even smaller than the eyes of ants soaring on unfolding wings lighted me up as though I had discovered a lamp in the dark desert.

A few years ago, I made a call of condolence for a late fellow writer whose ashes were scattered on the hill beside a childhood home. Would his(her) soul find rest somewhere in the pine forest? Someone said quietly,

“There is a Milkweed!”

Even stomped and kicked underfoot on the road, it was a perfectly intact, rugged fruit about the size of two knuckles.

“This is what Milkweed looks like!”

At that moment, one of my fellow writers plucked it for me. I wrapped and planted it in my garden as if it was my late friend’s essence. One day, while I watched it, the belly of the fruit popped, and the winged seeds began to sway. My husband accompanying me, surprised at the emergence of these precious baby boys, and he smiled.

Like hen and chick pecking at the eggshell together, with just one touch, out came the beautiful lives in an instant. When the tiny seeds clinging to the perfect pure white wings floated into the sky, I imagined the parachute might be inspired by the milkweed just as maple seeds inspired helicopters. I realized that the fluffy seeds of the milkweed are also materials for red ink; who named such a lovely plant something like ‘milkweed’?

Now, I look around whenever I walk through the forest. I can see the milkweed blooming and bearing everywhere I go. Alone, I say hello to the plants that cultivate all the world with their fragrance.

Last year, I was attracted to a sweet smell at the entrance of my village; it was again milkweed, dangling from the fence of the weekend farm. The quiet aroma, hidden under the sunflowers and pumpkin leaves, cleansed its surroundings with morning dew just like the fragrance of lilac flowers. Even the summer heat seemed to vanish in that moment.

After that, I shared a few milkweeds with some friends. When the pure seeds piled up in the mother’s abdomen eventually burst out and fly up, my friends will light up with hope just as I did.

Milkweed reminds me of steadfast people who endure in spite of every difficulty in this world: people who are doing their jobs without asking for compliments or rewards and who fill the tainted world with their own fragrance just as the milkweed filled my bathroom. It resembles the smile of someone I met at the Tan-heo museum, the Buddhist saint who filled the pottery with one big lotus and cleansed all the world’s dust with a cup of white lotus tea.

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