Searching for the seasons of reeds

In late October and early November, seeing the rows of mustard greens beginning to sprout golden buds and the sky turning a grayish hue, I realized that the old year was truly drawing to a close. A hazy nostalgia filled my mind, nurturing the memories of a poor childhood, as I tirelessly searched for the white reeds along the riverbanks of my hometown.

Back then, my hometown was very poor, everything was primitive, there weren't many tall buildings like there are now. Everywhere you looked, you saw vast fields, rice paddies, and endless trees and weeds. My older brother stood in the yard and pointed into the distance: "Look, little brother, the reed season is coming! They're blooming white all along the riverbank, it's so beautiful." Immediately, the two of us went to the riverbank to pick the reeds to play with.

I remember it was when the first autumn winds began to arrive, and winter slowly approached, bringing with it a chilly atmosphere. That's when the reeds started to grow tall and slender. Just a few days later, tiny, ivory-white flowers would appear at the tips. They didn't point upwards but drooped downwards, swaying gently in the breeze, creating a rare softness. It was this softness that captivated the hearts of the children in our village.

And then, memories of a deprived childhood suddenly resurfaced as I saw myself as a child by the riverbank, wading through the reeds to pick the biggest and most flowering ones. Back when I was nine or ten, the internet hadn't appeared yet, and electricity was just beginning to come, so there weren't many modern, fun games like there are now. While herding buffalo or chopping wood, if we saw something interesting or a beautiful plant that caught our eye, we'd have an idea for a game. We imitated the time of Dinh Bo Linh, using reeds as guns and sticks to play mock battles. With great enthusiasm, we divided into two teams, each of us waving a reed flag back and forth, our laughter echoing throughout the countryside.

In my subconscious, the reeds have a gentle fragrance, one that only I can perceive, as my friends claim they have no smell. I still vividly remember sneaking through the bushes to pick the reeds; when a reed brushed against my nose, my sense of smell was awakened by a subtle aroma. That scent seemed to encompass the scent of the countryside, the rising river water, the lingering dew, and the scent of my beloved homeland. And after playing mock battles, I would lie on the grass, still holding a reed, gazing up at the sky through the reeds like a delicate bridge of mist, the gentle fragrance of the reeds still softly enveloping me.

After days of running around and getting bored with playing war games, my mother and I would diligently cut reeds to make pillows. I remember those sleepless afternoons, under the golden sunlight on the porch, our two pairs of hands meticulously separating tiny reed blossoms and placing them in a basket. Gradually, we created a beautiful, soft pillow. My mother gave me the first reed pillow to cuddle and rest my head on. I gently hugged the pillow to my chest, embracing all the love and boundless maternal affection that had bloomed through countless seasons, and learning to cherish each small memory to nurture my soul as it slowly grew with many beautiful ideas.

Many years have passed, but every time the cold air arrives, whenever I close my eyes, I find myself transported back to my old hometown, to the riverbanks where the reeds bloom in a blanket of white, filled with sweet and loving memories with my friends. I feel as if I'm resting my head on the soft reed pillows that my mother and I used to meticulously gather and put in pillowcases. On this land of my heart, I tirelessly search for the reed blossoms of my childhood, those gentle early winter seasons that, somehow, have held a part of my life's love tightly in my heart!

Mai Hoang

Source: https://baodongnai.com.vn/van-hoa/202510/di-tim-nhung-mua-lau-3510f00/