My mother went to the field...

On a freezing winter day, hiding my shivering hands under a thin raincoat, I suddenly remembered my mother's image years ago, alone in the middle of a gray, cloudy field.

My mother went to the field, her thin shirt torn at the shoulders, her hat fluttering in the cold wind, her back bent over carrying the winter, carrying the foolish lives of my siblings and me, who had not yet had enough to eat or had not yet had enough to worry about. Mother was alone in the field in the cold gray, leaving us warm inside the door.

My mother went to the field, the winter was bitterly cold. Her thin shirt could not protect her from the wind, her thin hands were chapped from the cold wind. The fields were bare with furrows, waiting for my mother to weed, clear the banks, and harrow the muddy ground flat. Then the next day, waiting for the seeds to sprout, my mother brought them out to the field and spread them evenly with her footsteps. My mother went to the field in the middle of winter, sowing young rice and sowing hopes for a successful harvest.

My mother went to the field, her bare feet sinking deep into the cold mud. Her legs were as skinny as a stork's, groping back and forth, ignoring the hungry leeches clinging to her. During the day, her mud-soaked feet ached, and at night she scratched them from dusk till dawn. There had never been a winter night when my mother had a good night's sleep.

My mother went to the field, the winter wind was cold, the winter rain was even more bitter. The raincoat was patched up, just for cover, but how could it block the cold of winter. Mother said, working in the field always kept us warm, the blood circulated so it was warm. I knew she was trying to comfort us! The curved sickle quickly plucked all the grass on the bank, filling two bamboo baskets up to her chest, mother smiled and said, it was cold but the buffalo and cow had to be full.

My mother went to the fields, collecting rainwater, the freezing cold on her hands, the winter, the sweat on her nose, on her bent back, she filled her squeaky shoulder pole! Her steps were quick across the fields. Her figure was sometimes tall, sometimes short like the winding river of life. She carried the winter, the hardships, the toils, through all the cold, but her heart was always warm! I am so happy and grateful that I still have my mother by my side.

Japan

Source: https://baodongnai.com.vn/van-hoa/chao-nhe-yeu-thuong/202510/me-toi-ra-dong-f2804a0/