Casual conversation: The leaves are still green.

At the beginning of summer, the project drawing board stood tall against the stumps of the brown chò trees that had been cut horizontally at ground level. This school year, the children would have an additional classroom but would lose a cool, shady patch of foliage and a spacious playground. Their wide, bewildered eyes searched for the beloved "dragonfly trees."

My child no longer has the chance to cup their hands to catch the showers of "dragonflies" falling from the brown chò tree blossoms after the generous afternoon breezes of summer. Now, all they have are dried "dragonflies" stored on the bookshelf, which they occasionally take out to admire, and then ask me if this "dragonfly" will transform into a tall "dragonfly tree" again.

Saigon has many "dragonfly trees," especially along Pham Ngoc Thach street. I used to feel heartbroken seeing those "dragonfly trees" battered and torn apart during a major storm that swept through the city years ago. Now, I still occasionally stroll along that street, glance up at the canopy, and see the leaves still vibrant green, bringing a strange sense of peace to my heart!

Trees keep recurring in my dreams. Sometimes it's the old eucalyptus tree with its long clusters of leaves and conical blossoms falling in the strong wind. My neighborhood friends and I used to stand silently bidding farewell to the old eucalyptus tree when my father called the workers to cut it down to make house pillars. It was the first and last eucalyptus tree that ever existed in my life. Later, even the pot of herbal steam my mother used to make for my cold lacked the pungent scent of eucalyptus leaves. The absence of that "old" scent from my childhood seemed like a small thing, but it's something I've searched for endlessly without ever finding it again. Because even inhaling the fumes of industrial eucalyptus oil doesn't bring back a trace of the fresh green eucalyptus leaves of yesteryear.

Occasionally, I miss the teak forest in Dong Nai . When I was four years old, I walked through the teak forest with my relatives on our way to the house of a traditional healer who treated monkey bites. In the midst of a vast forest, looking up and seeing the leaves intertwined, blocking out the sunlight, I felt like a tiny squirrel, sheltered and protected. This autumn, the teak forest is shedding its leaves, turning the sky silver, but I haven't had the chance to return there yet.

I was also deeply saddened when the three mangrove trees at the foot of the Saigon Bridge (towards Thu Duc) disappeared when a major construction project began. The last remaining sign of the suburban outskirts was gone. Few people know that, in that spot, in that direction, there used to be lush green trees from the wetlands.

Then, from time to time, there would be pruning to ensure safety. I remember, around Tet (Vietnamese New Year), amidst the crisp December sun, the lush green canopies would droop after the sharp sound of the chainsaw. The pungent smell of tree sap would fill the air. Walking along the road, looking up at the bare tree trunks, my heart would skip a beat, like a sigh.

Sometimes I feel foolish like a child, always wishing that the trees would always remain green, no matter how modern and expansive the city becomes…

Source: https://thanhnien.vn/nhan-dam-la-con-xanh-185250906173916646.htm