September rains

Through the windowpane, the river surface felt the same every day, with the same boats, always still. Everything is relative; my perspective and feelings are only relative because I don't always look out at the river. The stillness is so pronounced that even the water itself is just a long, flat expanse of color. The thick green foliage on the opposite bank seems to have been trimmed perfectly straight, forming a boundary between the river and the sky.

However, at times, all around me were the sounds of the wind. The wind roared, rushing. I imagined it swirling, sweeping everything in its path with a howling sound, along with the noises it swept through like the rattling of corrugated iron roofs, the collision and rubbing of objects against each other. The sky darkened, dividing into two parts. Above, a menacing, dark gray cloud cover, and below, the river clinging to a thin, weak, pale blue. A rather large ship was far away, its only distinguishing feature being the clearly visible dots of light from its lights. I didn't know if the ship was returning, sailing, or anchoring, but why the lights were on so early, or if it was about to rain? And then, very quickly, the white afternoon rain covered everything, the river was silent, and the ships were no longer there.

The river is shrouded in rain, yet it's a "dynamic" picture with the steady sound of falling rain. The clicking of my keyboard, along with the sound of the rain, creates a percussion-like melody—sometimes fast and intense, sometimes interrupted—on the murmuring scale of the water, and dependent on the flow of my thoughts.

I stood up to watch the rain. September rains sometimes come in two bursts a day, morning and evening, sometimes just in the afternoon, occasionally creating four seasons in a single day on the river's surface. Saigon rain is usually not drawn out or lingering; it pours down in torrents and then stops quickly. The feeling of the rain coming and going is also fleeting. But on some days, the drizzle lasts from afternoon until evening, making my view of the river a monotonous gray.

But the best part is after the rain. On days when it rains early, the afternoon sun casts a soft, golden hue, a breathtakingly beautiful sight. On days when it rains late, the twinkling lights of the windows of the buildings in front become clearly visible. On other days, the rain comes and goes quickly, leaving behind a clear, dark sky in the evening, with the boats on the river, already lit up, forming a sparkling outline like diamonds. Even more wonderful, the moon appears, starting as a yellow, gradually rising to a bright white, and silently drifting towards the other side of the skyscrapers – a place I've never seen before at the end of the moon on the sidewalk. I think the moon is still beautiful then because that side is the street, the urban area, with its rooftops of varying heights...

September brings the rains of the season, gradually giving way to dry, cool days, then Christmas, the end of the year, and Tet (Lunar New Year)... That's why the September rain feels so fleeting.

Look, it's as if someone has just lifted the curtain of rain, revealing the river scene clearly. The sky quickly turned blue again. I see several large ships arriving and departing. There's a long, drawn-out siren. It's as if there had never been a torrential downpour before...

Source: https://thanhnien.vn/mua-thang-chin-185240921164853475.htm