Watching the summer rain fall

Illustration (AI)

It's raining in the middle of summer. On the balcony, magnolia flowers are blooming.

I don't know why, but I feel my heart soften every time I watch the summer rain. The weather these days is sometimes sunny, sometimes rainy. The sky is just blue, the sun is still shining, then suddenly dark clouds gather, rain falls, blocking the way home. Summer is like human life: sudden, impermanent, stormy and unpredictable, but also full of depth, thoughtfulness,...

But what I like most is watching the rain fall in mid-summer. The mid-summer rain is gentle, with a bit of the gentleness of the rain in the early days of the season and also a bit of the fierceness and haste of the autumn rain that I have immersed myself in many times in a town in a remote mountainous area covered in white mist. Having gone through so many fiery summers of my youth, watching the summer rain fall in different skies that I have passed through in so many years of my life, I find the summer lingering, the summer to miss, the summer filled with memories but also imbued with sadness, separation, and broken pieces that make people feel tormented for a lifetime.

This month it often rains. The rain falls gently on the temple porch in a waking morning. The sound of the rain blends with the peaceful sound of the temple bell, echoing deep into the souls of those who have gone through many injuries but still often take shelter under the temple roof to find themselves. The drizzle on the "phoenix flower streets" in the city, lingering in the footsteps of students in the moment of saying goodbye to their white shirts to walk towards a vast sky. The steady rain soaks the clothes that cover the fates of many people who are ups and downs in the struggle for survival, shivering under the cold rain that in my youth I thought was as romantic as a musical note. The rain awakens in me the fragile dreams of my first life, which quickly shatter in the whirling, turning storm of life.

And so, the rain is like tears, the sound of rain is like a sob in a certain period of life among the myriad of human lives...

I suddenly remembered the mid-summer rain that year when I wandered the mountain town with my mother. At that time, my mother was still very young, although now, in my eyes, she is not old yet. Those thoughts stemmed from a sense of anxiety, fear that she would grow old, that she would become dust and then, who knows, one day, disappear into nothingness. The harsh reality is that every rainy season that passes, my mother gets older by one year. That rainy season in the mountain town, under the eaves of the small house at the end of the slope with morning glory vines wrapped around the fence, my mother and I sat watching the water flowing on the road, carrying with it the pink color of the red basalt soil and the fallen wild sunflower petals after a life of dedication. I looked at my mother for a long, long time, counting each wrinkle on her kind face. I looked at the rain through tears. The summer rain in the mountain town is beautiful but sad, falling on the roof but also full of contemplation, enough for people to look into it and see through their own hearts. I sat there counting on my fingers, muttering, it had been a long time since that rainy season. Now, does the mountain town still miss me? Does the mountain town still miss the mother and son who chose the rainy season to visit the mountain town, just to find the wild sunflowers blooming out of season, the red basalt soil, and the sounds of the mountains and hills echoing in the hearts of travelers...

Mountain town now, is the rain like the rain of the past?

This morning, outside the balcony, there was a light rain, I had just opened the door and had not yet stepped out when the scent of magnolia flowers rushed in, fragrant. Sometimes the magnolia tree in front of the house blooms, but only a few flowers hidden behind the leaf axils and then wither in the late afternoon sunshine. I still wait for a time in my life, I will see magnolia flowers in full bloom. I still silently look forward to the magnolia season throughout the beautiful sunny days. And then the magnolia flowers bloomed again in a rainy morning. I followed the magnolia scent to the balcony, stood and watched the petals as small as the little finger, slender and soft, not proud but full of courage. In the echo of the summer rain falling on the magnolia leaves, in the clarity of the sky and earth when bathed by the rain, I feel my heart is pure and this life is so kind. The happiness of each person sometimes comes from simple, ordinary things but also full of surprises like that!

I stood on the balcony looking out at the white curtain of rain. Just then, I turned back and saw magnolia flowers dotting the path home…/.

Hoang Khanh Duy

Source: https://baolongan.vn/ngam-mua-ha-roi-a198116.html