One autumn morning...

Every year, that old lady ushers in autumn with a tray of fruits for sale at the corner of the riverside market. Does she know that I have been waiting for a long time, often bursting with emotions like a ten-year-old child before the gift of autumn?

I gently held each custard apple in my hand, brought it to my nose, and inhaled the indescribable fragrance. Some custard apples were as golden as the autumn sun; others had brown spots like the skin of a person who had passed the threshold of forty. But I could no longer see the age of the old woman sitting before me. Her hair was white, her skin was wrinkled, and her smile had been toothless for many years. At a certain point, old age cannot get any older, but only seems beautiful like a fairy tale.

I brought some custard apples home, placed them on the window, on the desk, in the kitchen full of thoughts. I searched for the scent of custard apples amidst the smells of braised fish, tomato-sauced beans, and fried meat with shrimp paste. The scent of custard apples was like the gentleness hidden in a woman with many worries and clutter. Sometimes I saw myself in the image of my mother in the past. In the midst of years of poverty and hundreds of worries, every time I came home from the market, my mother still bought her children a few custard apples with the money she earned from selling moldy cassava, or the last hen in the house. I sat waiting for my mother for a long time outside the alley, with a rustling bamboo grove and a yellow butterfly as my companion. My feet were covered in mud, my face was smeared with ash, but that autumn was a clear memory...

In autumn, the persimmons in the garden wake up. Soon they will ripen and hang on the trees like red suns. I don’t know what kind of persimmon it is, only that it is plump and red, with a thin skin. When you put it in your mouth and take a sip, you can feel the sweet, cool autumn flavor in your throat. My mother cherishes the ripe persimmons, wraps them carefully, and sends them as gifts to this person and that person. Persimmons on the street, red and full of the heart of a child who has been away from home for a long time and has not been able to visit home. Add a small package of green rice flakes wrapped in green lotus leaves to complete the autumn flavor for those who love nostalgia.

This morning, on the way to school, I heard autumn rustling in the treetops. When I returned home, autumn was in the basket of custard apples that my mother had just sent down. The crooked custard apples were not yet ripe and soft, but were already full of rat teeth marks. I made a pot of tea and sat alone for a long time. No music was needed, just the sound of the wind and birds chirping was enough to stir my heart. It seemed that autumn made me yearn to live more slowly. I missed my childhood. I missed friends I hadn't seen for a long time. I missed a promise that had been forgotten. I missed an autumn date with someone I loved.

The scent of the incense on the window still smells like a fairy tale even though no Tam comes out…

Source: https://baodaklak.vn/van-hoa-du-lich-van-hoc-nghe-thuat/van-hoc-nghe-thuat/202510/mot-som-mua-thu-e8c1d08/