People from the countryside are imbued with the scent of eucalyptus.

The bus dropped off passengers at the edge of the village, a short distance from my house, just far enough for me to drag my suitcase and walk along the old dirt road. That stretch of road used to be rough and gravelly; in the sun, the dust would fly up like smoke, and in the rain, it would sink up to my ankles.

(AI)

I returned to my hometown on a late afternoon.

The bus dropped me off at the edge of the village, a short distance from my house, just far enough for me to drag my suitcase and walk along the old dirt road. That stretch of road used to be rough and gravelly; in the sun, the dust would fly up like smoke, and in the rain, it would be ankle-deep. Yet I loved it. Not the road itself, but the feeling of walking beneath the lush green eucalyptus trees on either side, the wind rustling through the leaves like someone singing softly.

When I was little, every afternoon after school, I would take off my shoes, carry them in my hand, and walk barefoot on that dirt road. The earth was warm and soft like human flesh, a feeling that now, even with money, I couldn't buy back. Under the shade of the eucalyptus trees, I used to run like the wind, I used to fall and scrape my knees, I used to sit on the ground just to look up at the top of the tall trees, wondering if any birds were sleeping there.

Time flew by like smoke from a kitchen fire. I grew up, went to school far away, and then stayed in the city. I thought it would only be temporary, but it turned into a permanent stay. Life began with crowded buses, long meetings, and days when I forgot what I was going to eat. The wind in the city was different from the countryside – it was like a gasp, without the smell of earth or the rustling of leaves.

I don't know when I started to fear the city. Not the people or the scenery, but the emptiness that creeps in day by day. A place with millions of people, yet it's so easy to feel alone. My rented room is clean, the air conditioning is cool, but at night it's as silent as a sealed jar. No rooster crowing, no slippers clattering down the street, no one calling a child home for dinner.

The city made me forget the sound of falling dew. I even forgot to greet strangers every time I met them on the street. These things seem small, but when they're gone, people's hearts loosen up, like a shirt that no longer fits properly when worn for too long.

A few years later, the village paved the road. It was straight, the cars drove smoothly, and the yellow streetlights shone brightly every night. But the eucalyptus trees were gradually cut down. The reason given was that their roots were damaging the road, posing a danger to vehicles. I couldn't argue; I just sat there watching each tree fall, like watching a part of my memory being uprooted. No one asked if anyone still wanted to keep them.

This time, returning home, I walked along the same old path. The soil was gone, the trees were gone. Only a few bare stumps lay beneath the asphalt, blackened like dried scars. The wind was different too; it no longer carried the scent of old leaves, nor the familiar rustling sound. Everything had become strangely quiet—not the quiet of peace, but of emptiness.

I stopped at a spot I remembered sitting in long ago. A eucalyptus root had grown there like a chair. The root was gone, but I still sat down on the sidewalk, gazing into the distance. I imagined the figure of a child with muddy feet, clutching a cloth bag, their heart filled with things they couldn't name.

There are places where, once things change, it's not just the scenery that's lost, but a part of a beautiful memory is also gone. I remember the afternoons when the wind rustled through the trees, the sound like someone gently whispering something. I remember the damp smell of the earth after the afternoon rain, and I even remember my small figure sitting there lost in thought as I was about to leave my hometown for school.

On my way home, I picked up a dried eucalyptus leaf that had fallen by the riverbank. Small, curved like a boat. I put it in my jacket pocket, not to keep it, but to remind myself that sometimes, a single leaf is enough to hold onto an entire lost path.

Eucalyptus

Source: https://baolongan.vn/nguoi-que-tham-mui-khuynh-diep-a198978.html