[E-Magazine]: Remembering the passion in the green mountains and forests

The murmuring sound of the stream and the gentle rain on the porch. I remember the soft figure of that girl in her flower-shaped dress and the strong scent of wine. I only remember and feel the sweet peace coming between the green mountains and forests of this place.

Pu Luong night, clouds drifted lazily. Patches of darkness flickered in the shadows of forest leaves. Then rain. Diffused lights. Diffused in the depths of the mountains and forests.

The sound of rain falling on the thatched roof. Dripping, pattering. The rain reminds me of the white patches of light at sunset on the terraced fields. The flooding season is coming very soon...

The color of the water shimmering in the rainy night reminded me of a few fields with a crescent moon that I had just seen in the afternoon. The fields were after the harvest, the stubble had been burned, the grass no longer spread along the edges, and the water was full, just waiting for the seedlings to be planted.

I walked down the rice fields and gradually went up to the top of the mountain. The curved rice fields overlapped each other, connected by small but sturdy embankments. The silhouettes of people bent over the rice fields, still covered with golden stubble in the afternoon sun. A woman with a round face smiled when she saw us and greeted us. She said her name was Lo Thi Xuan. She worked in the fields nearby. She had several crops a year, so she ate comfortably and was not as hungry as before. We smiled, said goodbye to her and left. After going far away, we turned back and waved again. I have met many people in remote villages like that. Cheerful, open and hospitable. Especially visitors from the lowlands coming to the mountains and forests.

Terraced fields stretch from one mountainside to another. Some fields have not yet been harvested, their golden color stretching all the way down to the valley. Some fields are already stained with the silvery light of water.

I remember looking at terraced fields through photos taken by flycam. The color of ripe rice and the green color of young rice, or the season of water pouring on the fields, all made me feel nostalgic and moved. It was so beautiful that I couldn’t help but exclaim in admiration for nature. Nature and people in harmony on a sunny and windy summer afternoon in a strange land made me fascinated. I just wanted to walk forever on those countless steps. I just wanted to hear the sound of water flowing from one field to another. I just wanted to hear the sound of the wind whistling past my ears as if I was flying in the deep blue sky.

The rain has not stopped yet. The raindrops still crisscross under the lamp. The rain makes the lights of the homestays dim in the mountain mist. The night is more mysterious, shimmering and mysterious. Inside the house, the rhythm of the gong and drums is bustling, calling people to join the xoè circle. Inviting eyes, soft, curved hands, gentle, passionate footsteps. We wear the same Piêu scarf, we drink the same rice wine, this xoè rhythm is walking together, you and I are drunk together. The sweet song on the lips of the Thai girls, the scent of wine mixed with the mist, floating, floating away...

The xoè dance misses someone. The tau song sobs in the rain. Hey you, go plant rice with me. Hey you, let's join the pestle and pound rice. Which hand winnows, which hand rocks the cradle? Weaving cloth under the moonlight, waiting for someone to poke the flower floor, waiting for someone to warm the clothes on the stove. Oh rain, just keep raining!

The circle grew wider and wider, the gongs and drums were bustling, raindrops splashed into the outstretched hand. I looked at the sparkling rays of light in the rain, at the bunch of unripe fruits glowing because of the wet light. My hand was cold, the raindrops touched lightly as if afraid of hurting the curious visitor with the mountain rain. Outside, the night was dark, only the mountain ranges were still dim in the distance, silent with time.

The music spreads in the rain. The dance circle ends, the wine makes me drunk, still passionately calling: Noong, come back with me...

When the rain is only a mist, only a mist, the rhythm of the stalls begins to rush, the lively dance attracts everyone. The sound of the stalls hitting each other, hurried, urging. Let's dance, let's dance, you and I become a couple, the traditional dress next to the traditional dress, brocade next to the green skirt... all colors are lovely. The wine in the jar is still there, the chicken meat smells like mac khen, why don't we get drunk? We'll stay here on a rainy night, it's okay to go back tomorrow!

I listened to the sound of rain falling on the thatched roof. This season's rains come and go quickly. Perhaps tomorrow morning Pu Luong will be as clear and pure as a jade. The rain will wash away the dust of many sunny days, wash away the sorrows of people's hearts.

On a rainy night in Pu Luong, I felt my heart drifting to some faraway land. No thoughts, no worries. Just remembering the music and the green of the hills, the fields and the trees. Just remembering the terraced fields stretching to the top of the sky. And the sound of the water trickling in the wind.

Pu Luong night is dreamy in the sleep is coming. The sound of the stream murmuring and the gentle rain on the porch. I remember the smile of the Thai woman on her way to work, remember the soft appearance of the Thai girl in the flower dance and the strong scent of wine. I only remember and see the sweet peace coming in the middle of the green mountains and forests of this place.

Content: Tran Thi Hong Anh

Photo: Internet Document

Graphics: Mai Huyen

Source: https://baothanhhoa.vn/e-magazine-nho-nhung-nong-say-giua-nui-rung-xanh-tuoi-255010.htm