The sun casts a shadow of my mother on the porch.

After enduring days of rain and floods, everyone's heart yearns for the return of sunshine. It's the delicate, golden, gentle sunlight of late autumn, illuminating the houses that bear the marks of time and hardship.

(AI)

After days of rain and floods, everyone's heart yearns for the return of sunshine. It's the delicate, golden, gentle sunlight of late autumn, illuminating the houses reflected in the shadows of the changing seasons. The sunlight after the rain always ignites a familiar warmth in people's hearts. Each ray of sunlight sways and dances with the leaves, as if silently conveying a message that the storm has passed, and cherished hopes and dreams shine brightly again in people's eyes. Someone looks out the window, a fleeting feeling stirring within them as they see the entire landscape rejoicing in the gentle sunlight. From the depths of their being, a nameless stirring resonates.

I love watching the moment the sun shines through the moss-covered roof tiles. The old, silvery-gray tiles suddenly gleam with golden sunlight. At that moment, it's as if I'm looking at a simple rural painting, yet one that holds a whole sky of affection. The slanted sunlight paints the wings of sparrows calling to each other on the tiled roof. The sun dries the old moss, its streaks interwoven on the stained brick wall in front of the veranda. The sun sinks into the ripe guavas of autumn, filling the air with the scent of the countryside, and spills over the water in the basin, clinging to the pristine white guava blossoms. Each window opens, letting the sunlight into the corners of the house, dispelling the dampness and the lingering shadows of the rainy day. Smoke slowly rises from someone's kitchen, like a poetic image of an autumn afternoon in the countryside.

I feel as if I'm returning to paths drawn by memories. Back to the time when I was ten, wishing to be a cloud drifting across the sky of my homeland, a fragrant flower falling into the embrace of Mother Earth. I realize that, whether in the exuberance of my twenties or with graying hair, whether anchored at a harbor or yearning to explore new horizons, ultimately, I find the greatest peace and happiness under the shade of my home. Sitting beside my mother in the kitchen, bathed in soft sunlight, listening to the crackling of the firewood, a sound of longing and affection.

On sunny days, as the path is bathed in golden light, I keep remembering my mother's figure returning from the distant fields, wearing her conical hat. Behind her, the sun blazes through the green banana leaves covering the fence. I sit by the gate, looking out, and see my mother as if she's bringing sunshine to color the porch golden in the early morning. Then, taking advantage of the dry, sunny days of late autumn, she washes blankets and hangs them to dry in the brick courtyard. The cold season is approaching, yet her blankets still retain the fragrant scent of sunshine. Just recently, on such clear, warm days, my mother used to wash my grandmother's hair at the old well behind the house. I remember my grandmother wearing a brown robe, and my mother sitting behind her, each gesture gentle and attentive amidst the steam dissolving into the sunlight. I don't know what my mother and grandmother were thinking in those silent moments, but I sense a simple, warm feeling gently creeping into my soul, and everything seems to be sheltered under a sky of profound love.

My grandmother has passed away. The well behind the house is covered in ferns and moss. My mother sits in my grandmother's room, gazing out at the courtyard strewn with fallen leaves. Just as my grandmother used to sit in the hammock by the window, looking out at the fields bathed in hazy sunlight. I recognize both my mother and my grandmother, women from the countryside who spent their lives rocking in their hammocks, each with a kind of sunshine in their hearts. That sunshine shines into my distant dreams, dispelling the chaotic storms within me. It allows me to find the path of love, that after traveling the world, my feet will eventually return to the cradle of my motherland.

This morning, I long to return and sit by the window, beside my mother as she combs her hair. How I cherish the sunlight after the rain, sparkling with so much anticipation, so much pure joy and sorrow, as if my heart had never known sadness. Now, in this quiet corner of the street, I suddenly wonder: In my homeland, after endless rain and wind, have the houses already taken on the golden hues of the sun?

Tran Van Thien

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