[E - Magazine]: Perhaps everyone has a winter to remember.

Seeing the drizzle and the north wind brings back memories, nostalgia, and love of the old days, engraved in me since childhood. Time can blur many faces, many journeys, but whenever I hear the monsoon coming, my heart stirs up a strangely familiar feeling.

Last night it started to rain, the first cold wind of the season started to blow. The house was windless so I was still wearing light clothes, but when I opened the balcony door, the wind and rain rushed in, cold. Under the yellow streetlights, the rain seemed to have legs, running past in intervals. The lights dyed the rain yellow, the wind whistled, the branches and leaves twisted in the wind. In the twilight, people's hearts also sank, quietly feeling the rhythm of the earth and sky.

When the monsoon season comes, all I want to do is curl up in my blanket. The cold and drizzle are like close friends to my lazy body, wrapped in a warm blanket and soft mattress. The hungry baby makes me wake up lazily too. My sister's child is wrapped tightly in the blanket, calling me over and over again until he moves, but his eyes are still closed. His morning battle usually ends with him running to catch the school bus. This morning, luckily, I called out to him, so the bus came back to pick him up.

I brought my shoes to play soccer, but my wife said: "This rain will never stop." Never mind! I was still stubborn, who knows maybe it will stop raining by the end of the day.

The stream of vehicles rushed through the drizzle. Vehicles drove slowly through puddles, afraid of getting the motorcyclist next to them wet. The fog was thick, the sky was a dull gray. Only Friday morning could salvage a little excitement amid the lethargy of the monsoon. Arriving at the company, looking at the calendar, I was startled to realize that it was almost November. So the last months of the year were coming. And once they were here, they would pass very quickly, there would be Christmas, New Year, and then Tet would follow one after another.

Perhaps the hustle and bustle of the last months of the year makes time pass more quickly. People meet each other and sigh: “Another year is almost over.” I also feel it is fast. Just yesterday, the beginning of the year was still leisurely, but now we have entered the days of drizzling rain and cold wind. Thinking back, a year has passed quickly, and youth has also passed quickly, sometimes suddenly realizing that half of one’s life has passed quickly.

Looking at the drizzle and the north wind, I remember the cold days of the past, when a thin shirt was not enough to keep out the wind, when the cold was so deep that I had to pack in warm clothes until my body was stiff. I remember the nights when I snuggled under the blanket, giggling and telling my mother: “Winter is so nice”. Perhaps the most enjoyable thing at that time was not winter, but being in my mother’s arms, in the warmth and love that no other season could have.

The North has winter, which makes people who go to the South miss it endlessly every time they hear the radio announce the arrival of the monsoon. I find the Southern sun so fierce, as if it melts away the thread of nostalgia woven together by the winter cold, by the memories of the early morning straw fire when my grandmother got up to boil water to brew green tea for my grandfather. So when I see drizzle and wind, I see all the longing, the nostalgia, and the affection of the old days, which have been engraved in me since childhood.

Perhaps everyone has a winter to remember, where drizzle and north wind are not just the weather, but memories, childhood, a warm land of love. Time can blur many faces, many journeys, but whenever the monsoon winds come, a strangely familiar feeling arises in the heart. In the midst of a busy life, just a drizzly afternoon on the porch, we can meet ourselves of the past: small, peaceful and complete in the arms of loved ones.

Content: Le Ngoc Son

Photo: Internet Document

Graphics: Mai Huyen

Source: https://baothanhhoa.vn/e-magazine-co-le-ai-cung-mang-trong-minh-mot-mua-dong-de-nho-267197.htm