Memories came flooding back, as vivid as if it were just last night when I was a ten-year-old girl begging my brother to take me to catch fireflies to put in a glass jar, illuminating a magical world . I saw myself with my mother planting rice under the moonlight, the cool breeze caressing her weary back and my own small, delicate back. The summer sun blazed down, making it impossible to go to the fields early in the day, so the people in my village would take advantage of the moonlight to plant rice, harvest peanuts, and irrigate the fields like this.
In my memory, the moon of yesteryear shone brightly, illuminating everything in the world. The moon streamed down the long country roads, and the birds in the trees were not yet asleep. The moon illuminated the village courtyards: Grandma sat chewing betel nut, the children played jump rope, hopscotch, marbles, and chased leeches... Mother busied herself chopping vegetables for the pigs, and Father sipped tea with the neighbors.
That peaceful scene, in the flickering light of oil lamps, was illuminated by the moonlight, making our childhood world sparkle. I dreamt so many of my most beautiful dreams under the moonlight, beside the rocking hammock as my grandmother sang lullabies and fairy tales. The white stork perched on the bamboo grove startled awake by the sound of children's cries, quickly flapped its wings and flew across the silent river, yearning to feed at night…
Many people have asked me the same question: "Why isn't the moon as bright as it used to be?" Is it because the moon is moving further away from Earth due to the law of acceleration? Or is it because the light from streetlights and electric bulbs now blocks out the moonlight? I only know that as I grew older, everything gradually changed.
The elderly passed away one by one, leaving behind withered betel nuts, lime that no longer carried the fragrance on anyone's lips, and the betel vine standing alone at the end of the garden. My grandmother left, taking the fairy tales with her to heaven. Children today have, to some extent, lost their belief in fairies and benevolent spirits, unlike we did long ago. This is because the hustle and bustle of life means there are no longer people to tell them fairy tales with their distant, pensive eyes, with the kind, selfless hearts that once believed in goodness. I still believe that the fairy tales, as told by my grandmother, became magical thanks to the enchanting moonlight.
I hear someone calling my name in the moonlight. My childhood friends are now far away in the bustling, busy city. I long to sip a cup of jasmine tea, infused with the moonlight of a time when my parents' hair was still black. I long to lie comfortably on a cot, fanned by my grandmother, listening to her lullabies of storks and herons. There were times when the longing made me cry, exclaiming: "Grandma, please don't go! Let fairy tales still have a place to rest! Folk songs owe a debt of gratitude for the betel nut of yesteryear! You leave, but you'll leave behind stars waiting for me..."
Source: https://baoquangnam.vn/trang-cua-ngay-xua-3157197.html
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