Today, as it has been all day long, the heat wave has been sculpting clouds, and the wind has been gathering them. Thus, from the early evening through the night, the sound of rain persists. 

Scorching sunlight, clouds, wind, and rain. This is how summer lives through the month of August.

News of a typhoon will soon arrive from the southern seas. It is said that the waters near the Philippines—the gateway where turmoil brews and the Kuroshio Current rises—are growing hot. 

Soon, tree branches will snap, and the lush green fields will be laid to waste. 

There has not been a single quiet day. And so, it is said that in August, one must live as fiercely as the sun and as intensely as a typhoon. 

Seeking a path to return, I aim for a life as graceful as gazing upon a flower petal, abandoning malice, and settling into a deep, serene existence. Because I dislike the struggle, I thought I should depart before August does.

I listen to Patti Kim’s "September Song." In a garden where no petals are visible, a rich aroma of coffee drifts by. In Patti’s voice, which suits the color of autumn brown, and in the world she sings of, I find solace. 

Grasshoppers, dragonflies, fireflies, and all others are merely passing through August; no one has fled from the mountains, rivers, and fields of this month. 

Those whose love is beautiful do not lead struggles or bloody agitation, nor do they weary the lives of others. 

I have merely seen a bird dreaming atop a thorn-laden branch.

The sun, too, must be concealing its hostility for the sake of the petals that will bloom again. And so, on a day when a cold breeze blows along the sycamore-lined street, crickets will be chirping, occasionally speaking of silence in the streets.

As the stars shine by her side, I remember Patti’s love, which rushes toward me like the sound of hoofbeats.

As it has been for everyone, there is no love without you. Nor can there be a star for you without love. Just as the seasons arrive with her because I exist, love also arrives. 

The thought that because I was born, you must also be born alongside me, was beautiful.

There are no subplots in Patti’s love; there is only a single path. Patti possesses a direct line that rushes straight forward and a style of speech that strikes directly. Toward that burning sky, I, too, want to learn a love that strikes.

In autumn, one must listen to Patti’s song first. While listening, one should behold a love as desolate as a bare tree in late autumn. 

Patti’s voice, having shed all its leaves, was sincerity itself. It is a love without regret that cannot be forgotten even as time passes—a love like a naked tree. 

Neither in the past nor in the present has she left any excess on the body of love. In her, for having worn no pretense before love, I have never seen a lie. 

Yellow chrysanthemums and cosmos, hills swaying white with silver grass, reed fields covering the beaches, starlight rising beside the maple leaves— 

I offer the song of the wind to the souls of the hot August, following the sound of rain and the fading scent of coffee.

As long as I remember you as a star, even if I am reborn and stand here once again, when autumn comes, I will play Patti’s "September Song" for you, my beloved.

Postscript: It feels like a moment of rest in the midst of an intense battle. Occasionally, indulging in such romance is a quiet preparation for tomorrow. Watching the sky heavy with rain clouds, I listen to Patti’s "September Song." 

◆ Poet Jung Jae-hak

Poet, National Merit Recipient, Columnist, Promotional Committee Member for President Park Chung-hee, served 36 years as an educator in Jeolla-do.