the smell of the air right before it turns cold. twenty-six, eighty-two. my grandma’s skin is softer than my own. she marvels at my youth, i am even more amazed at the years she holds in her hands. it was the heat of july when she came, and now i feel the breeze in the mornings of september. she sits outside in the heat, in the breeze, everywhere in between. she says vitamin d is good for her, because she saw it on a video somewhere. the morning walks that last forever. i get worried she is lost, but she makes it back in the end, somehow. did you worry? she laughs. woori jiyoung, she says, my beautiful girl. when we walk, i am five feet in front, now ten feet in front. i look back and she gets smaller and smaller. is she following me, or guiding me from the back. she is too far away for me to ask. i realize, we are both getting older, together. twenty-six, eighty-two. can we freeze time? some day she will be go out on that walk and never come back. i imagine her smiling, getting that vitamin d. walking behind me, in the shadows where i cannot see her. but right now, i can feel the softness of her hand against mine. she holds it tight. the mornings are briefly cold, but the days are still long.
three, two one, click. it’s my august, on film.