Knitting season

In November, the weather turned cold. The street slowly soaked with a few patches of dry sunlight across the windows. Sniffles and hunched shoulders cooled the throat. Dew blurred glasses and stopped wetting rows of park benches when the sun appeared. Some of the men and women who did morning exercises gradually put on warm clothes, tights, scarves, etc. Everyone's face was red, hidden in a hood that covered their ears. Winter had come with the first cold wind of the season.

Winter makes people unconsciously turn to the source of warmth. Sidewalk iced tea cups gradually replace with hot cups of tea. Noodle shops, hot pot shops, and porridge shops are bustling with people and vehicles. The cries of “Who wants sticky rice, banh khuc…” also warm up the foggy streets. Nighttime stoves of street vendors are dotted with glowing coals, emitting the sweet aroma of sweet potatoes.

Winter makes the city life less noisy, more quiet. The cold winds blowing across the city make everyone suddenly want to wake up a few seconds late, walk a few minutes slower, and bargain for the remaining warmth. The streets are therefore less bustling. The melancholy of the weather makes people have a moment to think about things they have not paid attention to before. Suddenly, they want to warm each other. Hugs are tighter. Words of concern are no longer hesitant. A few apologies from heads that are no longer hot after an argument are not difficult to say. It seems that the cold of early winter makes people more patient with each other.

In the past, mothers and grandmothers often knitted woolen items by hand. When I was ten, my mother also knitted woolen items for my sisters and me. When my eldest sister went to university, my mother felt sorry for her daughter who was away from home for the first time, so she stayed up several nights in a row to knit a pink sweater, and in the morning she ran to the bus station to send it to my sister. The knitting techniques were simple, not elaborate, nor did they have complex color combinations, but my sisters still kept them carefully and wore them until now. We do not consider it outdated; on the contrary, it is proof of love that has been cultivated over time. No one can go back to the past, but thanks to it, we know how to appreciate the present.

Although we know that life is getting more and more developed, ready-made woolen items are sold everywhere, not difficult to buy. But when winter comes, when our eyes are still clear through our reading glasses, my mother still knits wool for us by hand like when we were children. Each twist of wool is wrapped around each other, tightening the rare warmth in the city weather at the end of the year. And it also seems to bring closer the hearts that accidentally touched each other in the heart of the city. Those are the tight handshakes of a few young couples as if they are afraid of losing each other. Those are the rhythmic back pats of old men and women during a morning exercise. Those are the heads leaning close together around the chess board of retired people. Or the bunches of chrysanthemums placed close together on the back of a saleswoman with a radiant smile.

Knitting season suddenly feels so warm in the cold, windy winter day.

Nguyen Van

Source: https://baodongnai.com.vn/dong-nai-cuoi-tuan/202511/mua-dan-len-68313ea/