My house is on this side of the hillside, where the garden is green all year round with coffee trees that are dark with age, further away are rows of galangal and sweet potatoes that grow with the terrain. Surrounding the garden, my mother still leaves an open path for wild sunflowers, cosmos and grass to be friends, season after season. Early in the morning, just gently open the gate, before my eyes is a space that is pure, green and infinitely open. Before the harmony of heaven and earth, I see how precious this life is.
I remember, when my family moved here, it was also a dry season day with a high, blue sky and full of wind. For the first time in my life, I felt the wind so clearly and differently. The wind here is so strange, as if it had hidden carefully in a predetermined place and then suddenly rushed in, carrying a few clumps of dust mixed with withered grass, swirling around my feet, clinging tightly.
The wind imbued me with a bit of the dry sunlight, a bit of the gentleness of the clouds, a bit of the winnowing of dry leaves leaning on the deserted road. And, the wind took away for me a few drops of sweat that had just touched my cheeks after a day and a night on the bus, and as soon as I stepped down, I was immediately met with the warmth of the sun. The wind also hid for me the turmoil and frustration in the heart of someone who was leaving childhood friends and countless memories for the first time to come to this highland, even though it was a foregone conclusion.
In the middle of a sunny afternoon, having just finished moving the stuff from the car to the red dusty yard, my mother quickly walked around the garden. Seeing a figure resting under a tree, my mother quickly approached to ask the name of the yellow flower patch in front of her, bending in the wind. Reaching out to pick a flower, she brought it back to me and whispered: "That wild sunflower, my child, just left the branch and it has already withered. It turns out that there are flowers that are only beautiful when clinging to the branches and the ground. Maybe it's the same with people, if we diligently cling to the ground and the garden, life will be fine."
Because my parents are farmers, they hardly leave any land empty, and every season is full of colorful fruits and trees. However, my mother still reserves a piece of land at the end of the field for a patch of wild sunflowers, a few clumps of grass, and a few clumps of Chinese clematis to cling and grow. My mother said, look at the trees to live. So, Chinese clematis is to encapsulate the love for the rice fields of my hometown, and the patch of wild sunflowers and clumps of grass are a way to remember my mother's motto in life: to live simply, in harmony, and always strive to overcome difficulties. Aren't those wild plants, no matter the sun or rain, no matter the dryness or the cold wind, still persistently cling to the ground and grow day after day?
When I have enough love for this second homeland - the highlands, I love the seasons of blue wind even more. As the years have passed, I have gone through the seasons of long winds running along the hillsides, the seasons of winds passing through the roof of the communal house with the cold mist, the seasons of cool winds singing long in the streets... Those seasons of wind are deeply rooted in my parents' wishes for a full and happy life. Those seasons of wind evoke in me dreams and a desire to contribute or simply do a volunteer work in life. Then, every season of wind, I leisurely go to the end of the garden to watch each patch of grass leaning against the wild sunflower field together to welcome the sun.
Source: https://baogialai.com.vn/cao-nguyen-mua-gio-biec-post572446.html
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