The transitional period before the threshold of spring.

This Sunday morning the sun rose early, its golden rays filtering through the leaves, dispelling the biting cold of the past week. On weekends, I usually wake up late, but today, my neighbor's New Year's music woke me from my slumber.

This year, the Lunar New Year is coming late, with more than a month to go, but for some reason, people's hearts are already filled with excitement. From inside the house, I can hear the women and mothers who went to the market early discussing how they will start preparing for Tet. I hear the vendors muttering to themselves, "Oh dear, Tet is almost here, it'll be so busy in a few days, we'll have to ask our children to help!"

How wonderful! There's a strange time of year, when Tet (Lunar New Year) is still far away, yet people's hearts already begin to stir. It's a delicate transition period, when the old year hasn't quite departed, and the new year is just gently knocking on the door with very soft, very subtle signals. Not noisy, not dazzling, but enough to make one's heart soften, and then unconsciously smile.

Sometimes I think, "the threshold of spring" is similar to love. It's the moment we wait, get to know each other, express shy words, anxiously anticipate, carrying with us the most intense emotions, excitement, and exhilaration.

The days leading up to Tet (Lunar New Year) are similar; the wind no longer carries the stifling heat of summer, nor the biting cold of the final days of the Gregorian calendar year. A gentle breeze, thin as an invisible shawl, sweeps through the streets, touches the leaves, and caresses the clothes of passersby. In the morning, a light mist hangs like a whisper, making the scenery softer and more ethereal. In the afternoon, the sunlight fades, a golden hue like honey, falling slowly on rooftops, on street corners, and on hurried footsteps that nonetheless carry no sense of urgency.

People begin to talk about Tet (Lunar New Year) in very poetic conversations. It's not yet about bustling shopping plans or long to-do lists, but rather casual questions: "Will there be a Kitchen God ceremony this year?", "What color ao dai should I wear this year?", "Will it be cold this Lunar New Year?", or a soft sigh when someone suddenly realizes: "The year is almost over already." At this point, Tet is like a date yet to be fulfilled, but just thinking about it is enough to stir the heart.

Outside the market, the atmosphere had begun to change. The stalls were gradually adorned with the deep red of red envelopes and neatly arranged decorative strings, as if hibernating and waiting to awaken. A few branches of pink peach blossoms, white plum blossoms, and early-blooming snow pears were brought in, their buds still closed, shy and delicate like young maidens, yet just seeing them was enough to evoke the scent of Tet (Vietnamese New Year). The tangerines and oranges, plumper and more golden, lay still, whispering of reunion and prosperity.

In every home, the anticipation builds slowly but deeply. Perhaps Mom starts mentioning cleaning early to avoid the rush, even knowing everything will be as hectic as every year. Perhaps Dad quietly tidies up old items, as if wanting to enter a more presentable space for the new year. Perhaps the aroma of baked goods wafts from the neighbor's kitchen, bringing back memories that are strangely warm and comforting.

Perhaps the most beautiful aspect of this transitional period is the feeling of anticipation. People haven't yet been swept up in the hustle and bustle, so everything is slow. Slow to reflect on the year that's about to end, with all its joys and sorrows. Slow to ask ourselves what we've accomplished, what we've missed, and whether it's still not too late to say sorry, to say thank you. Tet (Lunar New Year) hasn't arrived yet, but it has quietly opened up a moment of quiet reflection for people to look back at themselves.

In the evening, as the streetlights come on, the cool air makes one want to slow down or linger longer in a familiar corner. A hot cup of tea, a steaming cup of coffee, or simply hands tucked into coat pockets, is enough to feel the rhythm of time more clearly. Time doesn't rush by at this moment, but trickles down, drop by drop, into the heart, creating meandering circles of emotion.

Tet during these days is like a prelude to a piece of music. It hasn't reached its climax, it's not yet boisterous, but the melody is already beginning to resonate somewhere, very softly, very deeply. It seeps into every chilly morning, every fading afternoon sun, every casual conversation, every fleeting glance into the distance.

There are those who, far from home, begin counting down, not with a calendar, but with longing. A longing for the hearth, the village road, the smell of straw, and even the smallest things that only Tet (Lunar New Year) can bring to life. It's still more than a month until they return, but their hearts are already yearning for home. The changing of seasons thus carries with it silent hopes and dreams of returning, of reuniting, of being a little child again in the embrace of family. Sometimes I'll be surprised to hear a phone call from a child far from home, joyfully saying, "Mom and Dad, I'm coming home for Tet this year!" Or the voice of a father excitedly saying on the phone, "Yes, be good and study hard, son, I'll bring you gifts when you come home for Tet." Even without seeing their faces, I know that both ends of the line are filled with smiles. And in the hearts of the father, mother, and child, a joyful beat of happiness resonates.

As the seasons change, Tet (Lunar New Year) will arrive quickly, bringing with it so much busyness, worries, and joyful celebrations. But perhaps, in everyone's memory, the period of more than a month before Tet, when everything is just beginning, will always be a beautiful time. Beautiful because of the anticipation, because of the unspoken excitement, and because of the rare sense of peace knowing that, no matter how things change outside, Tet is slowly returning, bringing with it the warmth of reunion and hope.

Source: https://baophapluat.vn/khuc-giao-mua-truoc-nguong-cua-xuan.html