My house is on this side of the hillside, where the fields are perpetually lush green with dark coffee bushes weathered by time, and further in the distance, rows of ginger and sweet potatoes clinging to the contours of the land. Around the fields, my mother always leaves an open space for patches of wild sunflowers, cosmos, and grass to grow together, season after season. In the early morning, with just a gentle touch of the gate, I am greeted by a clear, fresh, and expansive green space. In this harmonious blend of earth and sky, I realize how precious life truly is.
I remember when my family moved here, it was a dry season day with a clear blue sky and a strong wind. For the first time in my life, I felt the wind so clearly and distinctly. The wind here is strange; it's as if it had been hiding somewhere beforehand, then suddenly rushed in, carrying with it a few clumps of dust mixed with withered grass, swirling around my feet, clinging to me and refusing to leave.
The wind carried within me a hint of the dryness of the sun, a touch of the gentleness of the clouds, and the rustling of dry leaves falling along the deserted road. And, the wind carried away the few drops of sweat that had just touched my cheeks after a day and a night's journey by car, the warmth of the sun immediately filling me as I stepped off. The wind also hid away the worries and anxieties in my heart as someone parting ways for the first time with childhood friends and countless memories to come to this highland region, even though the farewell was foreseen.
In the blazing midday sun, having just unloaded the belongings from the car onto the dusty red dirt yard, my mother quickly strolled around the garden. Catching sight of someone resting under a tree, she hurried over to strike up a conversation, asking about the name of the patch of yellow flowers swaying in the wind. Reaching out, she plucked a flower and brought it back to me, whispering, "That's a wild sunflower, my child. It just fell from the branch and it's already wilting. It turns out some flowers only bloom beautifully when they cling to the branch and the soil. Perhaps it's the same with people; if we diligently cling to the land and the garden, life will be alright."
Because they were farmers, my parents hardly ever left any land fallow; every season was vibrant with colorful plants and fruits. However, my mother still reserved a small plot at the end of the field for a patch of wild sunflowers, some patches of grass, and a few clumps of cosmos to take root and thrive. She said, "Look at the plants and live." So, the cosmos encapsulates her love for the rice paddies of our homeland, while the patch of wild sunflowers and the grass are a way of remembering my mother's motto: to live simply, harmoniously, and always strive to overcome difficulties. After all, aren't those wild plants, through sun and rain, through drought and biting wind, persistently clinging to the soil and growing day after day?
Having grown deeply attached to this highland region—my second home—I love the seasons of gentle breezes even more. As the years passed, I experienced the long, sweeping winds along the hillsides, the winds across the communal houses with their cool mist, the refreshing breezes lingering along the streets… These seasons held the profound hopes of my parents for a life of abundance and peace. These seasons also stirred dreams within me, a yearning to contribute, or simply to do something charitable in my life. And so, each time the wind returns, I leisurely stroll to the end of the garden, gazing at the patches of grass intertwined with the wildflowers, basking in the sunshine.
Source: https://baogialai.com.vn/cao-nguyen-mua-gio-biec-post572446.html
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