The rumbling sound of the engine blended with the cool breeze blowing on my face, carrying the scent of moist soil and ripe rice from the distant fields. I quietly listened to the story of the land through the words of the boatman, my eyes stopping at the dense reeds, imagining the time of fire and smoke that the river had witnessed...
In the distance, bamboo fish pots nestle among the water fern. Visitors from afar are quite interested in this space and the experiences of rowing boats and catching fish. Every lotus and water lily season, the river surface seems to light up. Flowers bloom everywhere, brightening the whole area.
I glanced at the pink lotus buds gently opening among the green leaves, the pale purple water lilies swaying in the water and imagined the scene: eyes sparkling with joy as the camera shutter clicked repeatedly, faces brightening, cheeks flushed with each click.
As the boat passed a small dike, I caught sight of a woman diligently scooping up clumps of green water hyacinth that slowly drifted along the water. When I asked, I learned that she was picking up water hyacinth to use as fertilizer for her vegetables, which was both cheap and good for the soil. “This river gives me a lot.” I suddenly realized that the give-and-take connection between humans and nature was simple yet profound.
As the sun set behind the distant trees, a gentle darkness fell over the river, leaving only the last flickering light reflecting on the still water.
Somewhere, a few white storks drew their last flight paths, leaving behind soft cries as if bidding farewell to the sunset. The boatman turned off the engine, the boat drifted silently - the sound of water lapping gently against the side like the deep breathing of the earth and sky.
I stood silently by the wharf, inhaling deeply the lotus scent still lingering in the afternoon breeze, a strangely warm feeling rising in my heart. In that moment, I not only remembered the story of the ferryman, the figure of the woman collecting water hyacinth or the colorful flowers of the season, but also seemed to hear the whisper of the Dam River, gentle yet profound and rustic.
I looked back one last time, as the boat turned away from the dock. Lotus flowers were blooming. Birds were flying back to their nests… Everything was as if no separation had ever happened. And I knew, I would come back not only to look, but also to listen, feel and keep a memory called Dam River.
Just once set foot on this land, everyone will hear the silent call of the land, of the water, of the people gently inviting you to come and continue writing your own story.
Source: https://baoquangnam.vn/chieu-vong-song-dam-3155852.html
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