Spring market

I am old now – my legs are no longer as nimble, my eyesight no longer as sharp as it once was. Yet, every spring, my heart still feels a sense of longing and excitement. In those mountains and forests, spring arrives as gently as a cloud, as clear as a drop of morning dew, as soft as the sound of a stream flowing through the rocks. And amidst the clear sky and earth, the highland market reappears, bustling yet peaceful, simple yet full of human warmth.

Early morning. Clouds still blanket the mountainside, and mist clings to the trees. The entire village seems to awaken with the arrival of spring. The crowing of roosters echoes from afar, mingling with the calls of people heading to the spring market. Groups of people stream down to the market, their brightly colored clothes like spring butterflies. The winding road, covered in silver mist, bears the imprint of bustling footsteps – footsteps seeking joy and reunion after days of hard work in the fields.

The highland market is not just a place for buying and selling, but a gathering place of rural spirit and identity. The Hmong, Dao, Tay, and Nung people bring to the market both their produce and their heartfelt sentiments. Baskets of forest honey, baskets of brocade, baskets of fragrant corn wine... all blend together, like a spring painting full of color and scent. Life here is slow and peaceful - as slow as the clouds drifting over the mountaintops, as slow as the long, lingering sound of the Hmong flute in the wind.

Amidst the vastness, the sound of the Hmong flute rises, gentle and heartfelt, as if telling the love story of the mountains and clouds. A young man stands beside a peach tree, his lips touching the flute, his eyes shining with adoration. A Hmong girl, her floral dress gently flowing, her smile soft and shy like the spring sunshine. In the hazy mist, the sound of the flute connects souls, and the whole earth and sky seem to bow down to listen.

In a corner of the market, a pot of thang co (a traditional stew) simmers, its steam mingling with the aroma of horse meat, dổi seeds, and mắc khén (a type of spice). Old and young alike sit together, their laughter ringing out, the clinking of bowls mingling with the pungent scent of corn wine. There, people seek not only the delicious taste of the food, but also the warmth of human connection, a heartfelt bond like a flickering fire in the cold highlands.

Walking through the market, I stopped beside the brocade fabrics drying in the sun. The colors were fiery red, mountain green, and bright yellow. The skillful hands of the women had poured faith, love, and patience into each stitch. Each piece of fabric told a story about the village, about loved ones, about the simple yet enduring life in the mountainous region.

By midday, the market seemed to come alive. Laughter and chatter echoed throughout the valley, blending with the sounds of flutes and pipes heralding the arrival of spring. Children played by the stream, and young men and women exchanged hesitant glances. Buyers, sellers, and even onlookers—everyone felt a strange joy. For in the warmth of the spring day in the highlands, all the worries of life seemed to melt away, leaving only smiles, the aroma of corn wine, and a simple yet complete happiness.

Evening fell. Mist settled on the mountain slopes. A hazy blue smoke drifted from the rooftops in the distant valley. The market gradually waned, the sound of the flute fading into the distance, only echoing faintly in the evening mist. I stood silently, watching the figures disappear behind the small slope. A gentle feeling of nostalgia welled up in my heart.

Though the years may pass, though my hair may be tinged with gray, the spring market in the highlands remains a place I long to return to – where the sound of the bamboo flute is the soul of the mountains, the stew of thang co (a local stew) is the soul of the people, and the pace of life there remains slow and peaceful, like an ancient song still echoing amidst the clouds.

According to Baotuyenquang.com.vn

Source: https://baoangiang.com.vn/phien-cho-ngay-xuan-a476906.html