The dream of the village dike.

QTO - While struggling to remove the caterpillars clinging to the bok choy on the rooftop, unsure how to get them off, my little one ran up and asked, "Mom, do you know what the village dike is?" Recalling my memories, I began to tell my child about the village dike that had marked my childhood.

The dike in my village was a treasure of my childhood, a dear and beloved friend to all of us children back then. The villagers built it up, winding around the vast fields; in some sections it curved like a bow, in others it was perfectly straight, like a snake sometimes coiling, sometimes leisurely stretching its body.

Grass grows lush and green all year round along the embankment. Especially in spring, with its warm weather, the grasses like purslane, sedge, and chickengrass sprout with their tender, vibrant green leaves. Occasionally, wildflowers of various colors appear: white, blue, red, and purple. The cosmos flower also blooms in spring, its pure white blossoms with shimmering yellow stamens glistening in the bright morning sun. Standing from afar, one feels a sense of awe and wonder at the sight of the beautiful, peaceful embankment in bloom.

Illustration: HUU HUNG

There was a ditch next to the village dike, convenient for irrigating the fields and also for villagers to wash and clean. We children often went to the ditch, where it was widest, to swim, catch crabs, and fish. In the summer, the ditch water was refreshingly cool, and the children's laughter echoed throughout the area. If we wanted to find someone, we didn't need to go anywhere; we'd just run to the dike and find them. Fat, glossy-haired cows grazed peacefully on the dike. Some days, we'd sit on the backs of the cows and buffaloes, playing flutes and singing familiar folk songs. Other days, we'd lie sprawled on the dike's slope, where the grass was thickest and greenest. We didn't really do anything, just let the wind blow past, watch the fluffy clouds drift overhead, and wish we were tiny birds flying freely in the sky.

Memories seem to have faded into the past, but no, every time I think about it or pass by the village dike, I remember vividly the faces of my friends, their tanned skin, their sun-bleached blonde hair. I tell my children that the village dike holds priceless childhood memories. The kite-flying was incredibly fun; we'd crane our necks to the sky, but we always loved it. We'd compete to see whose kite flew the highest, and the winner would be the village leader. Those memories were simple, yet so joyful. Then there were the parties, where we'd all gather fruits from our gardens and sit on the dike, munching away. How wonderful the world was back then, without smartphones or the internet!

The village dike is also a place where the footprints and sweat of hardworking farmers are imprinted. During harvest season, the air is fragrant with the scent of new rice, and in their worn brown clothes, they sit on the dike slope to rest. During planting season, the air is filled with the scent of young rice seedlings and the earthy smell of brown mud. My parents carried heavy loads of rice and straw on their shoulders, their weight rising and falling with each step. During the rainy season, the village dike was slippery, forcing them to walk barefoot, their ten toes gripping the ground tightly. The images of their arduous labor and the hardships they endured on that tiny dike are etched in my heart, and I am always moved by the lingering memories of that toil. At times, my mind allows me to cry out loud, to feel even more love and compassion for my mother.

"Little boy" gaped in amazement when his mother told him stories about the village dike. He was so fascinated by the dike that he insisted his mother take him back to the village on weekends. But now, back home, the dike is still there, but there are no longer the images of children playing like we did in the old days. The dream of the village dike remains in me, in my son. And strangely, that night, I dreamed I was a child again, lying peacefully amidst the fragrant grass and gentle breeze of the countryside, on the village dike of yesteryear. The village dike is my homeland, the refreshing stream of childhood memories that nurtured my young soul, carrying my dreams far away…

Mai Thi Truc

Source: https://baoquangtri.vn/van-hoa/202509/giac-mo-de-lang-52e6945/