The sun shines on mother's porch

Illustration photo (AI)

After days of rain and floods, everyone's heart is filled with excitement as they wait for the sun to return. It is the thin, golden, slender sunlight of late autumn, shining on the roofs of houses reflecting the mulberry fields. The color of the sunlight after the rain always lights up a familiar warmth in people's hearts. Each patch of sunlight sways along the leaves, as if silently sending a message that the storm has passed, and all the cherished hopes and dreams shine brightly in people's eyes. Someone looks out the window, a moment of heartache when they see the whole world rejoicing in the gentle sunlight. From deep within, a stirring that cannot be named suddenly resonates.

I love to watch the moment when the sun shines through the moss-faded tiled roof. The rows of old silver-gray tiles suddenly spread a golden hue. At that moment, it was as if before my eyes was a simple rural picture that contained a whole beloved sky. The slanting sunlight painted golden the wings of a flock of sparrows calling to each other on the tiled roof. The sunlight dried the old moss, each strip intertwined on the mottled brick wall in front of the porch. The sunlight set into the ripe guava of autumn, filled the bag of wind with the scent of the countryside, and poured out shimmering waves in the jar of water covered with pure white guava petals. Each window opened to let the sunlight shine into the corners of the house, chasing away all the dampness and darkness left over from the rainy day. Someone's kitchen slowly rose wisps of wood smoke, like a poem of an autumn afternoon in the countryside.

I feel like I am returning on paths drawn by memories. Returning to the time when I was ten years old, wishing to be a cloud floating in the sky of my homeland, a fragrant flower falling into the motherland. I realize that whether I am in my twenties or my hair has turned gray, anchored in a berth or longing to seek new horizons, in the end, I only feel most at peace and happy under the sky that covers my homeland. Sitting next to my mother in the kitchen shimmering with thin rays of sunlight, listening to the crackling fire of memories and love.

On sunny days, I always remember my mother wearing a conical hat returning from the distant fields. Behind her, the sun was shining brightly among the banana leaves covering the green fence. I sat in front of the gate and looked out, seeing my mother bringing the sunlight back to dye the porch of the house a golden yellow in the early morning. Then, taking advantage of the sunny days of late autumn, my mother washed the blankets and hung them out to dry in the brick yard. The cold windy season was approaching, and my mother’s blankets still retained the fragrant scent of the sun. Just recently, on those clear, warm days, my mother often washed my grandmother’s hair at the old well behind the house. I remember my grandmother often wearing a brown shirt, my mother sitting behind, each gesture thoughtful and attentive amid the mist dissolving into the sunlight. I don’t know what my mother and grandmother were thinking in those silent moments, I only realized a genuine warmth gently crept into my soul, and everything seemed to be resting under the sky of deep love.

My grandmother has gone far away. The well behind the house is covered with ferns and moss. My mother sits in her house, looking out at the yard covered with fallen dry leaves. As my grandmother often sits on a hammock hung by the window, looking out at the fields filled with smoky sunlight. I realize that both my mother and grandmother, the country women who spend their whole lives swinging their hammocks toward the corner of the house, always have a ray of sunshine in their hearts. That ray of sunshine shines into my dream of being far away from home, dispelling the chaotic storms in my heart. So that I can find the path of love, that my feet that have traveled all around the world will eventually return to the cradle of my mother's homeland.

This morning, I want to return and sit by the window, next to my mother's figure combing her hair. How I love the color of the sunlight after the rain, sparkling with so much anticipation, so much sadness and joy as clear as when my heart had not yet known sadness. Now, in the middle of a quiet street corner, I suddenly wonder: In my hometown, after the endless rain and wind, have the roofs of the houses turned yellow with sunlight yet?./.

Tran Van Thien

Source: https://baolongan.vn/nang-soi-bong-me-hien-nha-a205569.html