Summer afternoon

In the afternoon, in the small courtyard covered in moss, weathered by time, my father brought out his bamboo bed and set it under the shade of the custard apple tree. As soon as the bed was set down, his hands nimbly brewed a pot of lotus tea, then arranged the various bamboo strips, strands, and strings to weave baskets.

The children excitedly stood nearby, hoping to find any leftover bamboo pieces to ask their father for to make kite frames. In the middle of the yard, their mother busied herself with a pile of peanuts, their shells crunching in the sun, each kernel curled up dry. The afternoon sun cast golden rays, weaving together memories of a peaceful summer.

I always have the feeling that summer afternoons drag on more slowly than usual. The gentle, lingering summer sun makes children sitting indoors impatient. They long for the sun to set completely so they can rush out to the fields and embankments to play soccer and fly kites. My mood is always one of eager anticipation, waiting for a familiar call from my friends.

For me and my childhood friends, those summer afternoons were truly heavenly. Back then, the internet and smartphones weren't widespread, so nobody knew anything about technology; the children simply befriended nature and plants.

I can't count how many times my bare feet have strolled leisurely along the lush grassy embankments, nor can I count the times I've crossed the barren fields after the harvest. Mud clung to my feet, but a smile was always on my face.

Childhood games like kite flying, planting flowers, playing marbles, and other traditional games were always fascinating, and we played them every afternoon. These kind-hearted children entrusted their dreams to their paper kites, hoping that when they grew up, they would fly far away.

Summer afternoons in the countryside are sometimes noisy with the incessant chirping of cicadas in the trees, the incessant barking of dogs, and the clucking of chickens calling for their chicks. Some nights, I lie awake, tossing and turning, tormented by all that noise. Looking out the window, I see my mother bending over, scooping water with buckets to water the plants.

At those times, I would long for a rain shower, so my mother wouldn't have to work so hard, and the trees would be green again, bearing delicious fruit. Sometimes, the noise would come from the old dishwashing basins of people exchanging them for ice cream. Scrap metal, basins, and broken plastic sandals were precious treasures used to exchange for refreshing ice cream.

Every time I recall those moments, sitting leisurely on the porch, holding a cool ice cream cone, I feel the sweetness of my childhood amidst those loving summer afternoons…

On summer afternoons, I remember those days when the power went out. My mother would urge my sister and me to take a quick bath so we could have dinner in the evening. Back then, the well was so deep that hunching over to draw a bucket of water was exhausting. Pouring the cool water over ourselves sent shivers down our spines.

Sometimes we would bring our clothes to the village well to wash them, shampoo our hair, and chat with everyone. Those years are something I wish I could relive, even just once in my life. The well was filled in long ago, replaced by tap water and water from drilled wells pumped directly into tanks.

I remember sitting and eating meals under the flickering oil lamp, sweat dripping down my bare back, wishing the summer afternoon would pass quickly…

After so many years of growing up and reflecting, I've come to realize that summer afternoons fill my heart with a strange mix of excitement and wistfulness. It's a place where love and simple peace permeate the souls of those far from home.

No matter where we are, city or countryside, summer afternoons, for me and for you, have become precious moments of togetherness and reunion.

Source: https://baophuyen.vn/van-nghe/202506/chieu-mua-ha-25b0379/