Under the shade of the golden shower tree

Xóm Mới—where my family lives—consists of just over twenty houses, scattered along the right bank of a small, tranquil lake. My grandfather said that he had seen this lake when he moved here with his fellow villagers in his youth. Later, the lake was named after the hamlet, and it remains clear and blue year-round, providing cool, fresh water for the villagers.

Living by the lake, almost every family owned a pair of fishing nets, a fishing rod, and a small boat. In their free time in the late afternoons or during the rainy season, the men in the neighborhood would gather to fish and cast their nets. The children would chatter on the shore or play under the trees, their laughter echoing with the ripples on the water. The scene was incredibly poetic and peaceful.

Illustration photo: **Nguyen Linh Vinh Quoc**

Leaving their homeland to establish a new life in a new land, residents like my grandfather never forgot their roots or abandoned their old profession—tea cultivation. Therefore, after about ten years of diligent work, the left bank of the lake in Xóm Mới village became a lush, verdant tea plantation. The golden acacia trees also gradually appeared in the tea plantation and along the lake's edge from that time onwards.

That golden shower tree isn't native to my land. My grandfather told me that in the early years of the last century, the French brought seeds from the far south, a hot and dry region, to plant in tea plantations as a windbreak and soil stabilizer. Unexpectedly, the golden shower tree took root in the red basalt soil, growing peacefully and resiliently like the people here. Its trunk is straight, its canopy round, and its flowers bloom in a brilliant yellow, illuminating the entire area. And so, the golden shower tree has become an integral part of the tea-growing landscape, blending into the lives of tea growers through countless seasons of rain and sunshine. Under the shade of the golden shower tree, people rest, sip strong tea, and share a few stories about this place.

Over time, beyond their original purpose of being planted as a windbreak, the rows of golden cassia trees gradually became deeply ingrained in the minds of the people in the small village. After all, wasn't it under the shade of these golden cassia trees that so many generations grew up, like my father, my aunt, or the uncles and aunts of Mr. Ca's family at the head of the lake, and Mrs. Nam's family at the end of the village? And wasn't it under the shade of these golden cassia trees that my sisters and I grew up day by day and had a memorable childhood with our friends in the village?

As the years passed, countless tea harvests echoed with the rhythmic sounds of laughter. Many seasons of flowers bloomed and withered, brilliantly blossoming before fading into the earth and giving rise to seeds for future seasons. And so, year after year, month after month, those trees became ever more deeply ingrained in the memories and longing of those from the countryside whenever they left home. Therefore, the question, "How are the tea plantations doing now? How are the acacia trees?" became a familiar phrase in the conversations of the people of Xóm Mới.

Mentioning the golden shower tree still fills my mind with images of its branches intertwined, casting shadows on the lake's surface, a shimmering golden hue on those October autumn afternoons. The fallen petals form a thin layer, like a silken carpet, along the path by the lake's edge. Sometimes, simply slowing down and listening to the gentle sound of the falling petals is enough to soothe my heart and bring a strange sense of peace.

My grandfather always said that when the cassia flowers bloom, the world seems to enter a different rhythm, clearer, lighter, and fresher. The children wait for that season to gather the flowers, weave them into wreaths to wear on their heads, and play under the shade of the trees, forgetting that the sun is already setting. Once, returning home, I stood for a long time under the old cassia tree by the lake, where my grandfather used to sit and roll his pipe every morning. The wind blew, the clusters of yellow flowers swayed, gently falling on my shoulders, evoking memories of a time long gone.

I suddenly thought, perhaps human memories are like the seasons of flowers, blooming and fading, then blooming again, never truly disappearing. Under the shade of the golden cassia trees, those who have gone far away still look back, searching for their reflection in the colors of the flowers from years past. Perhaps that is why rows of golden cassia trees remain the warmest part of many people's childhood memories.

Even now, when someone mentions "the tea hills of Xóm Mới," people immediately think of the rows of golden cassia trees casting their shadows on the lake. Just looking at the color of the cassia flowers tells you that a new harvest is about to begin, the tea will be more fragrant, and the lake water clearer. Beneath the shade of the golden cassia trees, the laughter of my grandfather, my aunt, and the people of Xóm Mới mingled with the sound of the wind and the calls of swallows high above, as if heaven and earth were also in harmony in this season of love.

Source: https://baogialai.com.vn/duoi-bong-muong-vang-post569314.html