It's the Season of Dust Rain!

It's the season of towoe (토우:土雨:pronounced toewoo), which means 'dust rain.' The medias term it whangsa (황사:黃砂:whangsa, pronounced hwahng sah), which means 'yellow sand.' It's been literally a kind of rain falling from the sky in the form of dust.

Impregnated in the Gobi Desert, with its fetal form being made there, snaking the heart of the Chinese Continent, amassing forces in the process, the huge troops of dust cross the West Sea and land in the Korean Peninsula. With dismal gloom.

Apocalyptically, I can say. When it comes it pours. It gets the whole nation black. It's so black, not yet pitch. The dirty rain turns every gamut of animated and inanimated beings into the dark mass.

The ethereal peril, originated from the Middle Kingdom, descends in this land almost every day from the late February until the middle of March. It's an extraterrestrial shit, indeed, shrouding every top of the landscape with gloom.


The clothes hanging from the clothes line are flabbergasted about what happens. The roofs of the cars complain about the stinking disgust. The green sprouts of the spring fields raise their heads and protest in unison about the shitty matters. Young ladies in vernal attire make faces in shrill yet muted cries, muttering to themselves.