January's wistfulness

"January is as sweet as a pair of lips close together," as I wrote this, the poet Xuan Dieu immediately came to mind. He used a very emotional and... suggestive comparison to describe the beauty of January. And rightly so, because this is the month when spring is at its peak, a time when nature, the earth, and humanity harmonize and flourish.

Illustrative image.

As January arrives, plants and trees don new colors, and everything sprouts and blossoms. The apricot blossoms are still a vibrant yellow, and various flowers vie with each other to display their colors, offering the earth and sky the radiant hues of spring. During these beautiful spring days, in the small garden, alongside the vegetable patches and flowering plants, pots of succulents in various shapes and colors are also on a vigorous journey of growth. Just one succulent leaf falling to the ground, and a few days later, a tiny, beautiful seedling sprouts, marking the beginning of new life. Or the patches of weeds by the roadside, bare and dark brown under the sun and wind, suddenly dotted with green, like a soft carpet supporting little feet. Along the road leading to the village, here and there on the perpetually moss-covered, bare-branched kapok trees, green shoots are beginning to emerge. At this rate, in just a few more days, to the chirping of swallows, the bright red blossoms will quickly bloom, heralding new seasons of flowers.

In January, my mother braved the rain and mist to go to the fields to begin the new planting season. January usually has rain. The January rain is as delicate as the morning mist. It's a gentle, light drizzle, which my mother calls "dusty rain." The dusty rain isn't soaking wet, but just enough to add softness to January, enough to moisten the village roads and alleys, enough to wash away the dust clinging to the trees and leaves, enough to refresh the vibrant green shoots of spring. After the dusty rain, the soil is nourished with coolness and vitality, allowing the plants to confidently sow seeds and sprout. On the moist, loose soil, my mother sows potatoes, plants beans, and prepares for the new crop of eggplant. With nimble hands tilling the soil and planting seeds, my mother would hum and "teach" me more: "December is the month to plant sweet potatoes. January is for planting beans, February for planting eggplant. March is for plowing the fields. April is for transplanting seedlings when the rain falls all over the fields..." In the lingering spring rain, my mother's eyes were moist behind her conical hat, and her charming smile made me forget all the weariness in the world.

In January, the village held several festivals in quick succession. The lively sound of the festival drums echoed incessantly in my sisters and me. Whenever we had a spare moment, we children would sneak out of the house to watch the elders and aunts and uncles perform their stories and play their games. My sisters and I would sulk whenever we saw our mother rushing to the festival to call us back to school or work. She would laugh and say, "Life is short, don't be too preoccupied with playing, 'January is a month for feasting and having fun.' " Before she finished speaking, my sisters and I would mutter in protest, "January is the month for feasting and having fun , Mom!" Helpless, she would just smile and let us play for a little longer.

In the blink of an eye, I've lived through several decades of January, and my hair has turned gray to some extent. City life is full of hustle and bustle, worries and anxieties, and there are times when my village and hometown fade from my memory. Then, this afternoon, as spring is in full bloom, and the January rain falls softly, memories of those January days suddenly flood back. They remind me to cherish the past more, to treasure every moment in life. Because, "Spring is coming means spring is passing. Spring is young means spring will grow old… The heavens and earth remain, but I will not last forever." (Hurry - Xuan Dieu).

Nguyen Hoa Xuan

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