Under the summer moonlight

Under the summer moonlight, the countryside scene is truly peaceful and cheerful. The moon, like a silver disc, slowly rises from behind the bamboo grove at the edge of the village, its silvery light enveloping the hamlet, making everything shimmer and magical. The moonlight illuminates the rows of betel nut trees, casting shadows on the gentle thatched roofs, gardens, and alleyways. The rows of casuarina trees on either side of the road are reflected on the ground. The village road sparkles. The pond's surface is calm like a mirror, reflecting the full moon and the swaying shadows of the trees. A cool breeze blows, the atmosphere is airy and peaceful, along with the gentle caress of the moonlight.

Illustration: Viet Hung

When I was a child, the village didn't have electricity. In the evenings, the villagers only lit oil lamps. All production and daily activities took place under the moonlight. During the busy harvest season, the moon was a close friend of the farmers. On cool evenings, people would pull up peanuts, harvest corn, and strip jute under the moonlight. During the harvest, families would bring the harvested rice and pile it in the yard, only threshing it at night using a perforated stone mortar; later, foot-operated threshing machines were introduced. The towering piles of rice were gradually lowered along with baskets full of fragrant rice, which were then sifted and separated into a corner of the yard to be dried the next morning. During the harvest season, the hot summer weather meant that to ensure timely planting, people would go out to plant rice under the moonlight. As early as 3 or 4 in the morning, the sound of people calling out to each other could be heard. In the fields, the moonlight shimmered on the figures of people carrying baskets, bobbing up and down on the rough edges of the rice paddies. The moonlight scattered across the fields. The sound of murmuring conversations filled the air. The rustling sound of pulling up rice seedlings and shaking the soil. The crackling sound of planting seedlings in the field mingled with the croaking of frogs and toads. The sky was vast, the wind was strong, the moon shone brightly, and the cool, airy atmosphere seemed to ease the weariness.

The work in the fields was over, marking the end of the farming season. On moonlit nights, the whole family would gather around a simple meal. After dinner, we would set up a bamboo cot or spread out a mat in the yard to gaze at the moon. Each time, I would remember the legend of the banyan tree and Cuoi, humming a few lines of the nursery rhyme, "Cuoi sits at the base of the banyan tree / Letting the buffalo eat the rice, calling out to his father..." Neighbors would come over, sitting together in the yard, chatting animatedly, sipping tea, and discussing how to care for the rice, potatoes, pigs, and chickens. An old man would watch the moon to predict the weather: "A halo around the moon means drought, a scattered moon means rain," occasionally drifting off into old stories. In the yards and alleys, children played boisterously; the boys played tag and hide-and-seek; the girls played pretend games and blindfolded tag. In the cooperative's warehouse yard, a group was practicing singing and dancing. Their cheerful laughter echoed throughout the small village. A gentle breeze carried the delicate fragrance of betel nut and jasmine flowers, making the air even fresher and cooler. In the distance, the chirping of crickets and the rustling of leaves in the wind created a melodious symphony of the countryside. Moonlight streamed across the village lanes and alleys, filtering through the foliage and casting puddles of light on the ground. Every corner of the garden and pond shone with a simple, poetic charm. Young men and women gathered at the edge of the village to enjoy the breeze and chat. Young couples in love sought out secluded spots to whisper sweet nothings of their affection. In the quiet of the night, the moon seemed to witness countless romantic encounters and courtship.

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The mischievous children, tired of playing, would gather at the banyan tree by the field to spy on young couples dating and getting to know each other. The ancient banyan tree, its gnarled trunk providing cool shade, was said to be sacred and believed to be the gathering place of various spirits at night. Yet, many daring young men would still come here at night to spend time with their girlfriends. One evening, I, along with Dần and Vưu, crept along the roadside, overgrown with pineapple bushes and weeds. The dirt road was uneven and bumpy. A crescent moon hung above the bamboo grove, scattering pale yellow specks like chaff on the road. Approaching the banyan tree, we heard whispering and giggling. Dần and I quietly crept closer. In the shimmering moonlight, a burly, broad-backed man with a crew cut was embracing a girl. It was clearly Bường, from the village at the end. Bường lived alone, making a living catching eels; he was tall and muscular. The girl was Mat, fair-skinned and plump, so many men were infatuated with her. While working in the fields, Mat rolled up her trousers, revealing her firm thighs. The two were engrossed in their lovemaking when suddenly a dark figure with a sack over its head jumped down from the top of a tree, shouting loudly. Buong, terrified, ran for his life, leaving the girl behind, who let out a bloodcurdling scream. We all scattered in panic… A few days later, we learned from the villagers that the dark figure with the sack over its head was Thu, the son of Mr. Bang, the head of the cooperative. Thu was ill-tempered, ugly, and a dissolute playboy. He was very fond of Mat and had tried to woo her repeatedly without success. Resentful, Thu had quarreled with Buong many times. That night, he ambushed Buong from the top of the banyan tree to scare him away from Mat…

Vivid images and old stories evoke unforgettable memories, a sweet taste of a time of hardship and backwardness. The moon, intimate and dear, is deeply ingrained in the spiritual life of the rural people, connected to their daily lives, activities, and production. Its gentle light is like a close friend, holding countless peaceful childhood memories, bringing the soul closer to nature and fostering a greater love for rural life.

Many moonlit nights have passed. I am no longer the child I once was. The silent moonlight still shines upon humanity. But the busyness of life and the many worries have made people forget the moonlight. A life of material comfort has caused many to gradually forget the moonlight. Villages have sprung up with towering buildings, and high-voltage streetlights obscure the timeless serenity of the moon. For children of today's generation, after finishing their studies, they no longer play under the moonlight like our generation did, but instead are engrossed in online games, glued to phone and computer screens… Although many have forgotten the moonlight, I still remember the old moonlit nights, the stories and images of my beloved village. Because the moonlight of my hometown is imprinted in my memory, because deep within my soul there is always a special place reserved for childhood memories and cherished moonlit nights.

Tonight, I went out to the yard again to gaze at the moon. The moon hung low in the vast sky. The bamboo groves and pine trees still rustled in the wind. The moon remained perfectly round, casting its golden light upon the world. Only the years gone by were long gone. The rustling wind sounded like a sigh, a nostalgic longing for a bygone era. My heart ached with longing for the silvery moonlight of my hometown, for the joyful laughter of the children, for the moonlit nights filled with the warm affection of family in my beloved homeland.

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Source: https://baohungyen.vn/duoi-anh-trang-he-3195958.html