Nostalgia for the autumn breeze

October gently stirs with the silent rustling of falling leaves and the soft breeze rustling through the trees at the end of the street. The summer sun has softened, shimmering gently, enough to evoke memories, enough to stir the heart. The wind is crisp, the sky is deep blue, and the scent of autumn—a sweet, delicate, yet captivating fragrance—is ripening in the peaceful atmosphere of October. That is autumn. That is the arrival of the gentle breeze.

Afternoon on the village road. Photo: PHONG VU

I love autumn with a very special kind of love. Autumn isn't as noisy as summer, nor as rainy as winter, and it's not as overflowing with flowers as spring. Autumn arrives with the rustling of leaves underfoot, the scent of freshly roasted rice carried on the wind, the golden hues that permeate everywhere, and afternoons bathed in a warm, honey-like golden sunlight. But what I love most is the gentle autumn breeze. It's subtle, hazy, and rustling through the rice fields in October, ready for harvest. The breeze stirs the rippling surface of the lake, whispering a poignant tale of love. Therefore, around October, when autumn is more than halfway through, the sun is no longer harsh, and the rainy season has passed, we are greeted by the gentle autumn breeze, bringing with it a unique, slightly chilly coolness.

It's been a long time since I've had the chance to return to my hometown during the autumn breeze. The village road is now paved with concrete, bathed in the golden sunlight. A sense of longing lingers, wondering where the sloping brick-paved lane where I used to sit and wait for my mother every afternoon is. Where is the stone bridge where we used to gather and play hopscotch? I remember most vividly the afternoons when I'd follow my friends to the edge of the village to greet my mother returning from working in the fields. As soon as I caught a glimpse of her, I'd run to her, calling out her name. Every day, she was always busy and hurried, her feet covered in mud, her carrying poles on her shoulders. She would pat my head and take off the basket she wore at her side, giving me a gift from the countryside. I'd excitedly look inside, finding a few crabs or some small fish like tilapia, perch, or carp. The gifts she brought home were the small, humble products of the muddy, hardworking fields. In the reddish glow of the setting sun, I'd trot along the peaceful village road, the tranquil scenery of my homeland now seeming distant and hazy.

I wandered along the village road, a path brimming with memories. The mulberry tree in front of the gate rustled in the autumn breeze, its golden leaves fluttering silently, bidding farewell to the green canopy, yielding their essence to the next season's growth. I walked quietly in the autumn afternoon on the country road, a flood of memories rushing back, my heart filled with emotion. This place held onto the years of my childhood. The images of my family and loved ones have followed me throughout my years away from home. I still remember those afternoons in the creaking hammock at the end of the house, drifting into a deep sleep to my mother's lullaby. All those images are now just memories, a source of energy, nourishing my soul.

For me, the autumn breeze is not just a law of nature. It's a memory, a peace, the sweetest things that time cannot take away. And in the quiet of that gentle, lingering, pulsating breeze, I find myself silent beneath the wind.

AN THI HONG

Source: https://www.sggp.org.vn/thuong-nho-heo-may-post819992.html