Touching the summer

This morning, the sun rose early, casting soft, thin patches of pale yellow on the steps. Somewhere in the canopy of leaves, a cicada softly chirped its solitary notes, slightly out of tune in the chorus.

On the road in front of my house, a car sped past, kicking up a cloud of red dust that quickly dissipated into the air, which was beginning to feel a little stuffy. It seems like every year, the early days of summer always make people easily recall old memories. I stood silently for a while longer, and then, for some reason, my mind drifted back to the courtyard of my old home.

Illustration: Tran Ngoc Kien

Back then, a large, old mango tree stood in the middle of my yard, its branches spreading wide to create a cool, shady spot that sheltered my entire childhood. Whenever the sun began to shine intensely, the neighborhood children would gather under that tree, their eyes fixed on the clusters of unripe mangoes, filling each of them with anticipation and excitement. Their calls echoed through the long stretches of sunlight.

There were days when the ground was so scorching hot that we had to tiptoe to run barefoot, yet absolutely none of us would put on sandals. Our early summer afternoons began in such a simple and pure way.

No prior arrangement was needed, no reason was necessary. As soon as the sun rose higher and the cicadas began to chirp more loudly, everyone knew where to find each other. We divided up the mango branches among ourselves. Those who were good climbers swiftly ascended, picking the fruits that lay at the very edge of the canopy.

As for me, being naturally timid, I only stayed close to the lower branches, constantly worried that the branches might break while I picked. Once, I slipped, and it felt like the whole world had skipped a beat. From above, I heard Tùng's loud voice: "Hold on tight!"

I don't remember how I managed to stay standing. I only remember that once I was standing still on the branch, the whole group below burst into laughter, and I laughed along as a way to ease my fear. It was such a strange feeling, and even after so many summers, I could never find it again. We picked the mangoes, but instead of eating them right away, we gathered them into a pile and divided them equally.

There were also days when we didn't have enough to share, and we'd all have a huge fight. But then we'd make up. That's how long and wide the afternoons of childhood are; who could bear to stay angry at each other for long?

My hometown has a small, peaceful river. This season, the river water is crystal clear and refreshingly cool. On those afternoons when the whole village was asleep, we children would sneak out of the house to swim there. I was the most afraid of water in the group. But one early summer day, I took a chance, closed my eyes, and jumped in. The sudden feeling of the cold water enveloping my body startled me.

But then, when I surfaced and saw the grimy faces laughing loudly along the river, I laughed along too. The fear I had felt earlier vanished so quickly that I couldn't even retain a trace of it.

Those verdant summer days slipped by so quickly. They passed so fast that by the time I realized their value, they were all gone, lying quietly behind me. Now, the road in front of the house is still there, but the sound of children's barefoot footsteps from years ago is gone. The old mango tree still stands tall in the yard, only no longer do we see the eager eyes looking up at it as before. The afternoons are so peaceful, as if someone has silently taken away the most boisterous part of our lives.

Today, the cicadas are chirping more loudly, no longer solitary and out of sync like they were this morning. The wind blows, carrying a very gentle, dry heat – a characteristic breath of early summer. I suddenly realize that my mind no longer retains the exact words of the past.

Yet, a whispered call, an afternoon spent leaning against an old tree, or the feeling of bare feet touching the scorching ground—all linger somewhere. Memories intertwine, like the red dust outside. They seem to have vanished into thin air, but in reality, they remain, we just can no longer reach them.

I stood silently in the sun for a while longer. And suddenly I realized that summer doesn't lie in the vibrant red blossoms of the flamboyant trees or the buzzing of cicadas outside, but in the drawers of each person's memories, where I realize that some summers will never return, and some people can only be met again in the sun-drenched dreams of that year.

I smiled softly, and continued walking, carrying with me a summer that had just touched my heart, gently and quietly…

Source: https://baothainguyen.vn/van-nghe-thai-nguyen/sang-tac-van-hoc/202604/cham-vao-mua-ha-d7442c2/