Autumn singing on the hill

Early morning, leisurely strolling the streets, looking up at the rows of trees, I hear my heart rise with a sad note when I see the leaves of the Indian almond trees have changed color. My heart suddenly flutters, wondering how many pictures of the season that red color has painted on the deep blue sky. Then looking at the paintings, my heart hums a melody, so that one day I can sit and listen to autumn whispering. Reversing my bike towards Bien Ho, I blend into the mist. Walking in the mist like the drizzle of the North, I feel an endless longing for an “autumn that hides you”...

In the mountain town, I hear autumn singing with the sound of coffee beans gently shaking on the branches of green clusters, with the sound of the earth breathing dark red when the first sunlight of the day has just risen. And, as if by a stroke of luck, I walk on the small slope leading to Bong Phun village. There is a dry leaf that has just fallen slowly as if deliberately delaying. The sound of the autumn harmony falling on the hill.

Over the years, Bong Phun village has been leisurely walking along the streets, persistently preserving the long-standing culture of the Jrai people. Season after season, year after year, the “brown-skinned, bright-eyed” people diligently work in the fields, together building a peaceful, warm village. The freshness and vitality of life is increasingly evident on every face and house.

On the small, softly curving road leading into the village, I was able to admire the colors of flowers in the cold mist. Here and there was the gentle purple of the string of pearls trees forming a green fence in front of the stilt house, tinged with the color of time. Here and there were the swaying white branches of the xuyến chi, shimmering with morning dew. In the distance, the branches of the lilies and the golden phoenix trees were bright yellow in the sunlight. All of them created a charming natural picture, bustling with country music.

I stopped for a long time by the lush green hibiscus hedge, dotted with the red of the blossoming flowers. Reaching out to gently lift a flower, so many memories suddenly came flooding back. When I was little, my friends and I often picked hibiscus leaves and flowers to play house. Each leaf was considered a thousand dong, used to “buy” a sweet, ripe banana from grandma’s garden or a pink grapefruit segment my mother had just peeled, or even a bunch of golden duoi or ripe red figs that the boys in the neighborhood had just picked and brought home. As for flowers, we often picked them to put in our hair or sat down to peel off each thin petal and stick them on a piece of paper to make a picture. Not to mention, with the buds covered in dew, we sometimes competed to pick them to sniff the sweet nectar.

Late afternoon, I invited my friend to go for a walk. Still a hard-to-break habit, we stopped the car at the corner of Le Hong Phong Street - one of the beautiful streets of the mountain town of Pleiku. Since the end of March 1975, this area has been the location of the agencies under the Gia Lai Provincial Party Committee. My old agency was also located at this corner of the street.

These days, from Le Hong Phong street, I always feel the deep autumn colors on every tree and roof. What is more special is the strong scent of milk flowers at the beginning of the street every night. Isn’t it true that milk flowers are still known as the flower of Hanoi’s autumn? Isn’t it true that I also had years of wandering around Hanoi with my unfinished first love?

Also, right at the beginning of Le Hong Phong Street, there has long been a milk flower tree. The tree's canopy stretches out to catch the sun and wind of the highlands, stretching its highest branch towards the window of my office on the second floor. The tree's canopy is green all year round, filled with fragrance every autumn, sowing in my heart an endless nostalgia. And perhaps, that nostalgia is not only mine, especially when I sit and listen to autumn sing on the hill...

Source: https://baogialai.com.vn/mua-thu-hat-tren-doi-post566589.html