The moons have passed by the gate...

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Life passes through storms and floods, yet from the depths of my being, the echoes of childhood moonlit nights still resonate. And so, each autumn, when the gentle breezes peek outside my door, when the scent of my homeland fills the garden, I dream of the moon of those bygone Mid-Autumn Festivals. Suddenly, I hear the rhythmic drumming of the lion dance in my small village, stirring my heart with anticipation…

Illustration photo: Internet

Back then, the Mid-Autumn Festival for every village child opened fairytale doors, and upon entering, their souls would sing with the autumn moonlight and the fragrant breeze of the fields. I always knew the Mid-Autumn Festival had arrived when the general store at the end of the street hung lanterns. Above the baskets of persimmons and other fruits, silently emitting their fragrance, were paper lanterns shaped like carp, chickens, rabbits, and star-shaped lanterns, sparkling in various colors. They were hung up attractively, captivating the gaze of the village children. Every time I passed the general store on my way home from school, I secretly wished I had one to carry with my friends and play under the moonlight. Sleeping in my mother's arms at night, my dreams were filled with the light of the lanterns, illuminating the entire autumn sky.

Seeing the longing in my eyes, my father quietly whittled bamboo, got cellophane paper, and made me a five-pointed star lantern. His hands meticulously prepared the bamboo sticks, tied each string, secured the candle, and wrapped the cellophane paper around the lantern for me to carry on moonlit nights. Just as he silently showed his love through paper kites and handmade toys, making my childhood vibrant. Receiving the simple star lantern, I, a little child, kissed my father's forehead and laughed with joy. My father lit the small candle in the center, and the lantern emitted a shimmering halo of light, as if it had appeared from my dreams. I clapped my hands with delight, and my father watched with a gentle smile. At that moment, I seemed to see countless gentle stars in his eyes.

Every Mid-Autumn Festival, the children in my village would receive small gift packages. That afternoon, the village headman would walk along the country road, making announcements through a loudspeaker. We would excitedly call out to each other and gather at the edge of the village. Each of us would receive a package of sweets and candies that we eagerly awaited every Mid-Autumn Festival. We would anxiously wait for our turn, then happily bow our heads in thanks, feeling as if we were receiving a pure joy, a simple expression of love. The road home was filled with the sounds of laughter and chatter, the gentle breezes playing in our hair, and our souls felt like a clear blue sky.

We reminded each other to wash up and eat early, preparing for the joyful Mid-Autumn Festival lantern parade. Hearing the drums echoing in the distance, we cheered and ran out onto the village road. Following behind the gracefully dancing lion dance troupe, I clutched tightly the star-shaped lantern my father had made. A bustling crowd followed one another through the alleyways, the lanterns swaying in the golden moonlight that illuminated the entire countryside. We walked past rice fields fragrant with the scent of our homeland, past houses reflected along the riverbank, and gardens overflowing with the aroma of ripe fruit. After circling the village, we returned home when the moon had risen high, like a silver platter suspended in the sky.

At the end of the day, my mother's voice whispered softly as I gazed out the window, imagining the moon above me, Cuoi sitting under the banyan tree. Sleep came in the warmth of my mother's embrace, peaceful like a lullaby drifting across the moonlit landscape…

Time is like boats anchored in my heart, amidst memories of countless peaceful moonlit nights. That realm of memories always has the power to soothe a burdened soul. There, I find my father's forgiving gaze as I joyfully held my lantern, my mother's tender hand stroking my hair, gently telling me fairytale stories of the moonlit nights. I call those moonlit nights seasons of affection, seasons of cherished memories…

Source: https://baodaklak.vn/van-hoa-du-lich-van-hoc-nghe-thuat/van-hoc-nghe-thuat/202510/nhung-mua-trang-qua-ngo-a750f9c/