Dream of village dike

The dike in my hometown was a childhood treasure, a beloved friend of all of us children back then. The dike was built by the people and ran around the vast fields. Some parts were curved like a bow, some were straight, just like a snake sometimes wriggling, sometimes leisurely stretching its body.

Grass grows all over the dike, green all year round. Especially in spring, when the weather is warm, the grasses of the betel, the octopus, the chicken grass, each plant has its own young green leaves. Occasionally, wild flowers grow in all colors: white, blue, red, purple. The flowers of the daisy also bloom in spring, the pure white flowers with shimmering yellow pistils show off their beauty in the bright morning sun. My heart is moved when standing from afar and watching the dike bloom with beautiful flowers, so peaceful it touches my heart.

Illustration: HUU HUNG

There was a ditch next to the village dike, which was convenient for bringing water to irrigate the fields and for people to wash and do laundry. We children often went to the ditch, the biggest "bulge" to swim, catch crabs, and fish. In the summer, the ditch water was cool and clear, and the children's laughter always echoed throughout the space. If you wanted to find this or that kid, you didn't have to go anywhere, just run to the dike and you'd see them right away. Fat, shiny-haired cows leisurely grazed on the dike. There were days when we sat on the backs of buffaloes and cows, playing the flute and singing familiar nursery rhymes. There were days when we lay down on the side of the dike, where the grass was thickest and greenest. There was nothing to do, just let the wind blow by, watching the clouds drifting overhead and wishing we were tiny birds flying freely in the sky.

The memories seem to drift into the past, but no, every time I recall or pass by the village dike, I remember very clearly each face of my friends, each tanned skin, each sun-burnt blond hair. I told my children that the village dike had precious childhood parties. The times of flying kites were so much fun, my neck was tired from looking up to the sky, but I always enjoyed it. We competed to see whose kite flew the highest, the reward for the owner of the best kite was to become the village leader. The memories were just like that but so much fun. Then the party, the whole group contributed fruits from the garden, sat on the dike and munched on the fruits. The world without smartphones and internet at that time was so wonderful!

The village dike is also the place where the hard-working farmers' footprints and sweat are imprinted. Harvest season comes with the fragrant scent of new rice, in their old brown shirts, they sit on the dike to take a break. The planting season has the fragrant scent of young rice seedlings, the pungent brown mud. My parents' poles are loaded with rice and straw, their shoulders bending up and down with each step. In the rainy season, the village dike is slippery, my parents have to walk barefoot, their ten toes clinging tightly to the ground. I imprint in my heart the echoes of the hard work, the hardships of carrying on the tiny dike, when my mind allows me to cry out loud, to feel more sorry for my mother.

“The little man” kept his mouth wide open when his mother told him the story of the village dike. He was so fascinated by the village dike that he insisted on his mother taking him back to the countryside on weekends. But now that he was back home, the dike was still there, but he could no longer see the image of children playing happily like when we were young. The dream of the village dike in me and in him was still there. And strangely enough, that night, I dreamed that I was a child again, lying peacefully among the fragrant grass of the countryside, on the old village dike. The village dike was my homeland, a cool stream of childhood memories that nourished my young soul, carrying my dream far away…

Mai Thi Truc

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