Summer in the seaside countryside

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Every time summer returns, the gentle murmur of the waves from my hometown, reminiscent of my distant childhood years, resonates in my heart. Sometimes, the past seems to have been forgotten in the drawer of my subconscious, carried away by the relentless flow of time, but suddenly, in a fleeting moment, just by smelling the salty breeze or hearing the chirping of seabirds in the tranquil twilight, everything reappears, as vivid as if it were yesterday.

(AI)

My hometown's sea isn't the majestic, vibrant blue of famous tourist destinations, nor is it crowded with noisy tourists. The sea is gentle and simple, just like the hardworking people of this coastal region. Every early morning, as the bright red sun rises on the horizon, fishing boats set out to sea. And then there are the boats returning to shore, their holds full of shrimp and fish. Sun-tanned fishermen cast long shadows on the sand, their calls mingling with the crisp sound of boat engines, awakening a still somewhat unspoiled coastal area.

My childhood was filled with sunshine and the salty taste of the sea breeze. On summer afternoons, we children would run barefoot on the hot sand, chasing tiny crabs and shouting with laughter that echoed across the sky. Sometimes we would all rush into the sea to swim, letting the waves soak our hair and skin. The summer sea embraced the children of our poor village with its cool, boundless, and forgiving arms.

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As evening fell, the sea in my hometown was breathtakingly beautiful. The sun, a rosy red and round like a brass platter, slowly sank into the vast expanse of water. Each white-crested wave silently lapped against the shore like the tireless breaths of the ocean. Flocks of swallows fluttered restlessly in the deep purple twilight sky. On the long sandy beach, mothers sat mending their nets, waiting for their husbands and sons to return from their fishing trips. Children toddled around their mothers, their eyes gazing out at the distant sea. And back then, I often sat for a long time on the sand, listening to the waves and dreaming of faraway horizons.

The sea of ​​our homeland not only provides the people with fish and shrimp but also nurtures countless lives with silent love and patience. During stormy seasons, when the waves roar and crash offshore, the villagers still patiently cling to the sea for their livelihood. Their faces bear the marks of sun and wind, but their eyes still shine with hope. I understand that behind the salty taste of the sea lies the salty taste of sweat and the hardships of human life.

As my childhood years passed, I left my hometown to travel to other lands. There were times when I stood before famous, vast, and beautiful beaches, but deep down, I still intensely missed the sea of ​​my homeland. I remembered the small sandy path leading to the beach, the rows of casuarina trees swaying in the wind, the fragrant smell of dried fish emanating from the houses along the coast, and even those summer nights lying listening to the waves in the distance, feeling an inexplicable sense of peace.

Perhaps, that's what homeland is always like. No matter how far one travels, the heart always longs to return. And summer, for me, is not just the season of golden sunshine or the buzzing of cicadas, but also the season of the sea in my hometown – a place that holds a whole world of memories that will never fade. In my memories of summer by the sea, I remember most vividly the days when my grandparents, parents, and siblings gathered together under the small, old corrugated iron roof, listening to the sea breeze blowing all night long. The afternoons when my father returned from his fishing boat, his skin tanned dark by the sun and wind, the salty scent of the ocean still lingering on his shoulders.

My mother busied herself lighting the fire to cook a fragrant pot of sour fish soup. The whole family sat around the simple meal, their laughter always warm and comforting. I remember my grandmother often sitting on the porch mending fishing nets, her thin hands moving swiftly in the fiery red sunset over the sea. She would tell stories of the old days, of stormy seasons, of my grandfather's time sailing through the waves. We children would sit around listening intently, the distant waves blending with her melancholic voice to create unforgettable melodies. And in that summer memory of my seaside hometown, there is a figure that, even now, whenever I recall her, my heart still aches like the distant sound of the evening waves… Back then, there was a little girl next door to my house, from the same fishing village. We grew up together through those sunny, windy summers. In the mornings, she would often follow her mother to the beach to sort fish, her long hair blowing in the sea breeze, her bare feet imprinted on the wet sand. And I would often pretend to walk past just to hear her laugh, a laugh as clear as the sea on calm days. On summer afternoons, we would often walk along the beach together, collecting seashells and chasing crabs scurrying across the sand. Sometimes we would just sit silently on a rock, watching the fiery red sun sink into the sea. The sea breeze blew gently across our shoulders, and no one said a word to each other… I remember one time when the sea was rough and my father hadn't returned from his boat. My mother sat on the porch, anxiously looking out at the dark sea. It was that little girl who quietly brought my mother a small basket of fish and a pot of hot porridge. That night, under the dim yellow lamplight, I saw her eyes, strangely gentle. Those eyes have followed me on my journeys of wandering and displacement, and I will never forget them for the rest of my life.

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Many years later, I finally had the chance to return to my hometown beach. The sandy beach was still there, the waves still murmured as before, the casuarina trees still swayed in the sea breeze… but I no longer saw the girl from all those years ago. People said her family had moved elsewhere long ago. No one knew where she was now or how she was living. I stood for a long time by the beach that afternoon, feeling a vast emptiness in my heart, like the receding tide… Now, many of my relatives are old, some have passed away forever, but every summer, hearing the sound of the waves of my hometown beach, I feel like I'm still the child I once was, still running barefoot on the sand, still living in the warm embrace of my family in this windy, salty coastal region.

Mai Ly

Source: https://baotayninh.vn/mua-he-que-bien-149755.html