The red phoenix knocks on the door of time.

There is a flower that doesn't bloom in swathes like the wild sunflower, nor is it as elegant as the delicate mimosa in the early morning sun, yet every time it blossoms, my heart is filled with a poignant emotion – a feeling that is both tinged with nostalgia and as if it awakens something very deep within my heart. That is the flamboyant tree flower – a flower seemingly only familiar to schoolyards in the lowlands, yet it still blazes brightly on the slopes, heralding summer in a truly unique beauty.

I grew up in a small town on the plateau, where the dry season arrived late, the heat wasn't harsh but rather a gentle, lingering breeze. There was a corner of my middle schoolyard that I passed by in every season, but only in summer did my heart stop. The flame tree there wasn't as large as the ancient trees in the lowlands, but when it bloomed, it was a vibrant, lively, and captivating red. The clusters of flowers were like small flames smoldering on the branches, bursting forth against the clear, gentle blue sky.

The flame tree isn't as abundant as in Central or Northern Vietnam, not forming long rows like in the South, but each encounter brings back a flood of memories. It seems the flame tree possesses a unique kind of memory, not for the eyes, but for the heart. It doesn't need to be numerous to evoke such memories; just one branch is enough to bring back an entire sky of childhood, carrying the sounds of cicadas, the school bell, and the farewells of school days.

Back then, I used to pick phoenix flower petals to press into my notebooks, plucking the small petals and arranging them into butterfly shapes, then smiling aimlessly at my desk. No one taught me, and there was no reason; it was just an innocent habit that I still remember every step of. Those petals seem to hold onto a naive period of my life, where first emotions secretly blossomed in my heart.

The flamboyant tree is a flower associated with farewells, but also with new beginnings. When the flamboyant tree blooms, the school year ends, summer arrives, and childhood unfolds with carefree days of wandering. There were summers when I cycled up hills, my shirt soaked with sweat, but I never forgot to look up and admire the flamboyant branches along the roadside. Those red flowers were like beacons: "Summer has arrived! Enjoy it before time slips away!"

The older I get, the more I understand that some beauties only reveal themselves when we know when to pause. The flame tree blooms briefly, and summer passes quickly, just like the youth of each person – fiery, passionate, but easily gone if we don't know how to live life to the fullest. Once, returning to my old school, I looked up at the flame tree from my childhood – its trunk was thinner, its foliage no longer as lush green as before, but the clusters of flowers still bloomed proudly. I stood silently under the tree for a long time, listening to the cicadas calling out the summer, echoing in my heart, not from somewhere in nature, but from memory.

Everything around me is different now. The mountain passes are no longer so deserted, the small town has more brightly lit shops, people coming and going. But strangely, the flame tree still retains its ability to make one's heart ache. Once, I met a high school girl standing under a flame tree in the schoolyard, her eyes welling up with tears, holding a camera. She said, "I want to photograph this last summer." Suddenly, I felt as if I were reflected in those eyes—a look of longing and yearning, as if all the days of my youth were burning brightly with each falling flame tree petal.

The flamboyant tree is not just a symbol of student life, but also a witness to time. It stands there, silently blooming only once a year, as a reminder that each season has its own beauty, it's just a matter of whether our hearts are calm enough to appreciate it. The flamboyant tree carries within it a gentle philosophy: that beauty doesn't always have to be dazzling throughout all four seasons. There are beauties that, once they bloom, are enough to be remembered for a lifetime. Just like student life, like a first love, like a farewell left unsaid... all are etched in the red petals of its blossoms.

Now, every time I return, I still dedicate an afternoon to wandering under the flame tree. Sometimes it's in the old schoolyard, sometimes along the small, misty path in the early morning. I'm not trying to relive the past, I simply stand there for a long time, feeling that time has passed but memories remain. The flame trees are still blooming, like a whisper to the past: "We once had such beautiful days."

And as I gazed at the phoenix flower petals fluttering in the wind, I silently thanked that land – not only for its pine hills and rose gardens, but also for preserving within me a season of phoenix flowers – a season of youth, of farewells, of beginnings and endings – in a quiet yet profound way.

Source: https://baolamdong.vn/van-hoa-nghe-thuat/202505/phuong-do-go-cua-thoi-gian-d090b76/