The river has many twists and turns!

The small river originates from the Nhat Le and Bao Dai ravines on the Thach Xuan side, flows down to Thach Vinh and Thach Dai (Thach Ha), meanders around, and then flows down to Thach Linh ( Ha Tinh City), and here it naturally swells out like a large lake.

The vast sunset on my hometown river. (Photo by Huy Tung ).

The river has many twists and turns, / It's not easy to spend a lifetime together (Le Quoc Han).

There was a moment, in some vague space of a late afternoon, I realized a sense of peace of the quiet countryside inside me. I can’t clearly describe my feelings at that moment. I was filled with sadness, half distant amazement, half haunting nearness. Perhaps it was only when I was halfway through my emotions that I realized how many emotions I had for the place I was living!

An entire afternoon just sitting and looking at it. The small river originates from the Nhat Le and Bao Dai ravines on the Thach Xuan side, flows down to Thach Vinh, Thach Dai (Thach Ha) winding around and then flows down to Thach Linh (Ha Tinh City), reaching here naturally spreading out like a large lake. People who are good at writing still say it is like a liberal brush of ink by an old scholar when teaching the younger generation how to learn the word heart. It also teaches that all things and all reasons are created by the human heart. But in the end, there are two most important hearts: the deluded heart and the true heart. The deluded heart is the heart that thinks about nonsense, the true heart is the original heart that is still bright and intelligent, full of mysteries that do not need to be thought about to know. If people know their true heart like that and put aside all the deluded heart and nonsense, life will be much better...

The river has many twists and turns!

This afternoon I went out to the river and saw only in the sky, in the clouds, in the water a sadness that could not be resolved... (Photo: Dau Ha).

That's true, but life is full of ups and downs. What we just grasped can become lost in an instant... what seems like a rock can disappear faster than a wisp of smoke...

But happiness is very short, shorter than the thoughts of a person's life... that's why there is a story about a scholar looking at the river and dreaming about the word "true heart". As for a mortal like me, this afternoon, when I went to the river, I only saw in the sky, in the clouds, in the water a sadness that could not be resolved...

I miss my hometown! I miss the sound of kites whistling across the vast blue sky, between the bamboo tops and the herds of buffaloes dancing in the swamps amidst the scorching red summer sun. Not a single herd of shepherds could be seen, only the sounds of laughter and singing faintly heard in the hollow of the ancient banyan tree in front of the communal house yard, making my heart feel strangely peaceful.

I often dream. Childhood dreams keep coming back to me like a pre-programmed program. That dream starts from the afternoons off from school waiting for my mother, from the tall green areca trees lining the alley, from the fragrant pineapple flowers growing close to the house foundation, to my grandfather's thermos by the door with a few colorful betta fish. There, there is a chrysanthemum garden. The pungent flower is truly "cheapened" in the vastness of colorful and fragrant flowers. I love it not because of its rusticity as a hedge, but because I love its immortal pride that starts from that magical yellow color. Always shining, always burning endlessly. Chrysanthemums later remind me of a life experience meaning: I may not become a good writer or journalist alongside other talented people, but at least I am me, having devoted myself, diligently following the path I have chosen with all that I am most passionate about.

The river has many twists and turns!

The richness of Tung Anh on the La River today.

I miss my hometown! I miss my grandfather every time he returned from the village at dusk, his body filled with the smell of burning straw, the dampness of the river water and the smell of mud that had not yet dissipated, his shoulders still heavy with vegetables and rice, he would put in his shirt pocket a few fragrant grilled egg spoons for me. So fragrant that even later, when I had a chance to eat delicious water bug eggs in a luxurious restaurant, I still could not forget the egg spoons that my grandfather put in his shirt pocket that year on a distant afternoon of burning straw in the fields.

Why do I always miss those afternoons when the sun sets without any clear cause? I don't know either... I just know that my heart was really quiet when I watched the sunset and sighed and said to H.: Those moments of the afternoon like that easily make people feel sad: when birds fly back to their nests, when people find their way home after worries... Only we, in this moment, who knows, we might find ourselves (someone who has lost himself somewhere in the hustle and bustle out there) sitting by the river, looking at the roofs hidden behind the trees and dreaming of a peaceful place...

Lam Lam

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