Essay: The Season Calls Home

QTO - December always arrives unexpectedly, when people are still busy counting their unfinished tasks, not yet realizing that the calendar pages are already more than half thin. The cold is no longer a warning sign, but a silent visit, creeping through the cracks in old doors, wrapping around clothes, hair, and the most vulnerable spaces in the soul.

December doesn't need to be noisy; it's like a deep, quiet note, enough to remind us that another cycle of the earth is about to end. It's time to pause, reflect, and appreciate even the most familiar things. December arrives gently, like a whispered message: Come home!

In the final month of the year, deep within people's hearts, primal and pure memories stir, as fresh as morning dew.

I remember the poor countryside fields when the water barely covered the stubble, where thin egrets waded through the sweet, chilly evening mist. I remember following others to the fields to weed the corn, the dry corn leaves burning my hands, but my heart was filled with joy as if I were touching an entire carefree childhood. And how can I forget those afternoons running across the windy rice paddies, the biting north wind sweeping away all worries, barefoot on the dry grass, feeling a vibrant, innocent joy that cannot be named.

A street corner in winter - Photo: HH

It was the biting cold of that winter that forged an inner strength, an endless gratitude for the simple values ​​that nurtured us to where we are today.

December is also the season of the hearth—where the warmth of family gathers into the gentlest, most enduring light. How warm a winter evening meal can be, even if it's just a simple pot of steamed rice that Mom promised to cook at noon, or a bunch of fresh green water spinach hastily picked from the rice paddies. The smell of kitchen smoke mingled with the aroma of simple food, the sound of Grandpa's hearty laughter teasing the children vying for a piece of candy... It is these simple, small things that become cherished memories, anchors that protect us from the storms of life.

In the chilly weather, as we turn the pages of memories, we feel even more affection for our fathers and mothers—those hardworking, mud-stained people who remained gentle and resilient like the land and the harvest. They taught us lessons about responsibility and unspoken love.

Some Decembers in adulthood fly by so quickly, like the relentless cycle of work. We chase glittering goals, inadvertently losing sight of the most precious things. We realize we owe our poor hometown, our parents, a return home, and we owe our childhood an apology.

December is not just the last month of the year. It's a season of quiet reflection, a time that compels us to pause and find solace for our souls, even as the streets continue their bustling activity. Amidst the hurried pace of life, everyone needs a haven: perhaps the home where mother still lights the fire to prepare meals, or simply a long afternoon spent gazing at the familiar sky, rediscovering forgotten memories.

December. The season of reunion. Calling people back to the simplest, most genuine things in life. And sometimes, just a complete return like that is enough to complete the old year and bring peace to the heart.

Duong Linh

Source: https://baoquangtri.vn/van-hoa/202601/tan-van-mua-goi-ve-3271bd9/