Wild sunflower season

Illustration photo (AI)

The highland welcomed me with the bright yellow of wild sunflowers. It was the season of flowers so the yellow color covered the hills. Wherever I went on the mountain roads, I could see the yellow color of each cluster of flowers.

I still remember the moment I let my soul follow the gentle breeze on the mountain overlooking the lake, glowing with a gentle color of bright yellow. The soft, golden yellow, long petals made me initially think it was a chrysanthemum, perhaps that is why it has another name, Chrysanthemum?

In those days, I often strolled along the bus station trail. At that time, wild sunflowers were still abundant, on the red soil along both sides of the path were full of flowers. The red of the soil, the yellow of the flowers, the green of the leaves, spread out into a beautiful and shimmering five-color spectrum under the sunlight.

Now when I return, the old place has opened the road, the wild sunflowers have suddenly disappeared, only the withered flowers remain. But if you know how to find the right place, you will still see the wild sunflowers in full bloom. And standing before that scene, I cannot help but feel in love with this flower. The beauty of wild sunflowers is the beauty of the collective, the beauty of being close together, side by side. It does not have a single beauty, is this also the meaning when mentioning the sunflower?

My Literature teacher once said she loved looking at flowers. When flowers grew along the river, sometimes she and her friends would pick branches and drop them into the water. Watching the flowers drift by felt a bit regretful, yet a bit ethereal and poetic.

I remember once I picked a flower petal, held it in my hand and smelled the loneliness, the yellow color seemed less pale, drooping, the petals were soft like fluttering fabric, spreading out beautifully, the big orange pistil was like the root, the mother of the petals, and the leaves and branches were the protective fathers.

Then one day, I picked a flower branch again, gently turned my hand to let the flower fly down the hillside. There, the petals fluttered in the wind, lingering like windflowers.

The vastness of the flower fields seems to be waking up to welcome their children back. The beauty of the flower fields is even more overwhelming when the rainy season falls. Those with a romantic soul, when standing under an umbrella watching the raindrops falling through the leaves, pitter-patter, will feel extremely poetic. The most beautiful is when it rains lightly, the whole curtain of rain is like a hazy mist in the yellow color of the flowers.

On sunny days, the flowers have a fairy-tale beauty, the sunlight must be jealous! Its brilliance cannot compare to the gentle yellow color of the flowers. The whole hillside seems to glow, endlessly warm.

Sipping the bitter tea, I suddenly remembered the flower fields of the past, wondering if they still sang happily to the sad tune of the wind; if the flowers still stretched along the hillsides and riverbanks for children to see and play with; if the flowers still carried that gentle golden light.

The season of memories suddenly flooded back.

My heart suddenly remembered and yearned for something. Something that I did not know, it seemed that concepts of human emotions would never be defined under a name. I only knew that it was an emotion, an emotion that urged me to return to the old place, the place that once stirred something gentle in my heart.

Oh yeah! November is the month of wild sunflower season.../.

Bien Bach Ngoc

Source: https://baolongan.vn/mua-hoa-da-quy-a205958.html