The season of changing leaves of the Indian laurel tree

(QBĐT) - When spring is almost over, all things in the world have turned green, that is when the Indian laurel tree enters the season of shedding its leaves. Yellow and red colors flutter all over the streets, looking at the withered leaves falling with each gust of wind, somewhere a feeling of indescribable feelings wells up.

Suddenly I thought, human life is not much different from the life of leaves. So young but also so fast aging, suddenly startled to see our shadow standing on the other side of life's slope. Green leaves are likened to youth, yellow leaves falling and withering is old age. Strangely, all things are born and die according to the law of time, humans and all species are products of nature, inseparably affected by time.

Nothing in this life is eternal. Seasons come and go, leaves fade and fall according to the orbit of time. But we are human. Perhaps, everyone wants to be young, wants to hold on to time. Perhaps that is also the true desire and dream of people born on this earth.

The season of Barringtonia acutangula leaves changes very quickly to make way for new green buds. Seeing the leaves fluttering in the light sunshine, drizzling rain, and then stacked on top of each other all over the road surface is like a work of street art. Walking in late spring, watching the leaves change color brings a vague joy and a melancholy sadness.

Indeed, the human world and the natural world are very close in the flow of time. The falling of a leaf means a very natural shift and from there, the pure, innocent, trembling buds grow up. Deep in the heart of man, perhaps, he always yearns for that virgin beauty.

The season of changing leaves is also the season of letting go of the barrenness before the eternal nature to proudly leave the branches in the sunny, rainy, stormy days of a leaf's life that has passed. The season of changing leaves is also the season of beauty, the season of green buds that are eager to contribute, wishing to accompany the joys and sorrows of the leaf's life, to join the mysteries of nature, of storms to complete their mission.

When I was a child, my house was next to the river wharf, on the other side of the market. There, my grandmother had a hut and a few bamboo beds leaning against the base of an ancient Indian laurel tree. She sold goods to passengers crossing the river after each ferry docked. On the bamboo bed, there were sometimes a few bunches of bananas, boxes of sesame candy, and some bundles of gai cakes for passengers as gifts.

Every year after Tet, in March, the Indian laurel tree by the riverbank begins to shed its leaves. The leaves pour down like rain after a strong wind, falling on the hut and even on the bamboo beds. She often sweeps the Indian laurel leaves into a big pile after the market closes every afternoon.

I innocently asked her why people called it Barringtonia acutangula. She smiled toothlessly behind her wrinkled eyes, silently looking into the distance, perhaps she was remembering a story about Barringtonia acutangula flowers. Later I learned that Barringtonia acutangula is a tree with green leaves and red flowers, symbolizing luck and fortune. The word “luck” symbolizes fortune, luck, and happiness. Barringtonia acutangula flowers symbolize passionate, faithful love, the drooping flower bands like the gentle tears of a girl mourning a boy that she had not yet had time to tell me about.

Walking on the street this morning, looking at the rows of Barringtonia acutangula trees in the season of shedding leaves, it was as beautiful as a painting. Students competing to check-in next to the bright red Barringtonia acutangula trees waiting to shed their leaves, making people's hearts flutter strangely. Suddenly thinking, in times of hustle and bustle, tiredness, just need to stand on the side of nature, feel the flow of time of the most natural things, such as: Flowers, leaves, trees, grass... Putting our mind in the season of changing leaves, we will know how to appreciate every moment of life more.

In recent years, every time I return to my hometown, I walk down to the river wharf where there is the image of my grandmother and the ancient Indian laurel tree. The ferry wharf is no longer there, people have built a bridge across the river and cut down the old Indian laurel tree. She also followed her ancestors to the land of white clouds. The joys and sorrows, gains and losses in me when standing in front of a lonely Indian laurel tree in the rain suddenly reminded me of the poem "The season of falling leaves" by poet Olga Berggoltz with the verse: "I go to the station, my heart is as quiet as before/Alone with myself, no need for anyone to say goodbye/I cannot tell you everything/And now what else can I say!/The alley is filled with the color of night/The signs along the road seem even more empty:/"Do not touch the tree, the season of falling leaves...". Only through suffering can there be happiness, do not be sad when the yellow leaves have lived their lives to the fullest, devoted themselves and given way to the color of young green leaves.

Dinh Tien Hai

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