Summer breeze

There were afternoons when I would lie stretched out on the bamboo bed in the house with the bright red tiled roof, listening to the wind singing through the rows of betel trees in front of the porch, and my soul would suddenly feel as light as a kite soaring in the deep blue sky.

The summer breeze across the fields is not noisy or hurried. It carries the tranquility of the countryside, gentle yet profound. The wind silently passes through each rice paddy, caressing each sprouting rice stalk, then weaves through the vibrant red hibiscus hedges, blowing the mother's traditional dress, and tossing the disheveled hair of a child engrossed in flying a kite.

I remember those summer afternoons, when the sun shone down on the rooftops, and the breeze from the fields was the only thing that made things more pleasant. It seeped into every nook and cranny, bringing a slight coolness that made afternoon naps so peaceful. The wind was like a mother's hand, gently stroking my forehead, lulling me into a peaceful sleep.

Back then, summer was synonymous with school holidays, a time when we children could roam freely, lie on the rice paddies listening to the birdsong, wade in the ditches catching fish, and laugh loudly throughout the village. Every afternoon, gusts of wind would rise, carrying the shouts of children calling each other to the fields. Little feet would hurry after kites filled with wind. The wind was like a companion, accompanying us children as we roamed across the countryside, mingling with the scent of fresh straw.

The summer breeze also brings back many memories of my childhood. It's when I sat by the window, silently gazing at the vast rice fields in the twilight, my heart dreaming of faraway things. It's when I wrote my first diary entries, listening to the wind blowing through my hair as if I were talking to myself. The wind taught me to love simple peace, to cherish every moment of slow living amidst the hustle and bustle of life.

As time passed, I drifted away from my village, away from those afternoons spent listening to the wind sing. The noisy city, with its winds whistling through narrow alleys, no longer carried the scent of rice fields or the sweetness of the countryside. Therefore, every time I return home, what I look forward to most isn't the familiar food or meeting friends, but simply standing in the fields, spreading my arms to welcome the summer breeze.

The breeze was still the same as before, simple, gentle, and enough to dispel all the worries that had accumulated after months of separation. I lay stretched out on the embankment, watching the clouds drift by, feeling the wind caress my hair, and my heart felt strangely peaceful.

Summer in the countryside offers no air conditioning or luxurious trips . There are only endless fields, breezes carrying the scent of the earth, the laughter of children, and the buzzing of cicadas under the trees. That's all it takes to create lasting memories.

The summer breeze in the fields never gets old, because each time it blows, it evokes unique and genuine emotions. It's the call of home, the heartbeat of childhood, a haven of peace amidst the hustle and bustle of life. Anyone who has lived in the countryside, who has experienced summers filled with this breeze, will understand that it is a sacred feeling, difficult to put into words.

Every summer, my heart is filled with longing for my hometown, for the breezy afternoons in the fields, for my mother's hunched figure working in the rice paddies, and for my grandmother's squinting smile as she leisurely chewed betel nut on the porch. Even a fleeting breeze was enough to stir up a whole sky of memories. Once it passed through my childhood, the wind left behind an indelible mark of affection.

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