A meal in a foreign land

In the small street, farmers dry straw, the air thick with the earthy scent of fish and grasshoppers, thin wisps of smoke cutting deep into memories, the warm mud beneath people's feet.

dewdrop in a bowl of rice
This afternoon the wind blew, flipping the plowed furrows over.
The earth reflects the glittering stars.
green fields

I wander around in my memories.
banana bushes and overgrown grass
The dusty road obscured my mother's figure.
The stork's wings droop in the void.

Middle-aged men sleep in the fields.
My heart feels like the thatched cottage of my childhood.
windy on all sides
The names of places and villages are separated by the changing seasons...

Source: https://baoquangnam.vn/mot-bua-que-nguoi-3157124.html