I awake to wind. “Its the bad wind,” they tell me over breakfast: “The Spanish wind. The Levant.”
The wind rumbles out of the east and enters our small valley farm with a constant dirt-churning rush. The eucalyptus trees roll like the waves of the ocean, the chickens and turkeys hide within their roosts, and the plants of the farm bend under an energy and fury that seems both impossible to resist and destined never to end.
There are moments walking down the streets of Daegu when it is easy for me to forget I am in one of the richest countries in the world. Nestled among the cafes and pubs and modern supermarkets, street vendors huddle in narrow alleyways, old people rummage through trash, and bicycles cycle by overflowing with cardboard. In particular, the elderly people spread out on wide sidewalks selling produce beneath the shining lights of convenience stores and traffic signals always catch my eye.
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Brain Trips 