The sorrows of June

As June arrives, the golden sunlight pours down like honey onto the ripening rice fields, and the gentle southerly breeze carries a sweet fragrance, softly stirring up distant memories. I remember my childhood days living with my parents in our three-room, two-wing tiled house, my heart filled with longing as if I'm being called back to the peaceful memories of my youth in the countryside.

As June arrived, from dawn, while the mist still lingered in the garden, in my small room, I could hear the shouts echoing throughout the village as everyone hurried to the fields to harvest the golden ripe rice. We children, on summer vacation, walked barefoot in the sun, our trousers rolled up above our knees, toddling along with our parents to the fields. The adults were busy trying to finish the harvest before the sun reached its zenith. We children would run from home to the fields when we were assigned to fetch water and food for the adults. Everyone's backs were soaked with sweat, which streamed down their sun-tanned faces. As the sun rose higher and the heat intensified, everyone called each other to rest under the banyan tree on the high mound, sharing a bowl of green tea and a few boiled potatoes. Suddenly, a cool southerly breeze blew through, dispelling all weariness and worry.