The Thunder Keeper: in a Korean courtyard just after a summer storm, a middle-aged woman in a plain work vest and rubber gloves lifts the lid of one large brown onggi crock among a row of them, and inside, a small captured rumble of thunder flickers as a coiled ball of blue-white light throwing tiny sparks. She tilts her head and listens closely, exactly as if checking whether the kimchi is ripe. The other crocks have their lids tied down with straw rope. A worn closed notebook on the stone step. Grey clearing sky, puddles. Matter-of-fact. No text, no letters, no logos anywhere.