The lingering scent of the countryside

T

I happily immersed myself in the glorious sunrise over my hometown. The air was filled with the scent of alluvial soil and algae, the earthy, pungent smell of mud, the fresh aroma of fish and shrimp, and the damp scent of wildflowers along the riverbanks. Those were the times I followed my mother to the fish pond by the river, sleeping in a small hut amidst the vast, breezy fields.

And somehow, the scents from the earth and the river have crept into my memory. These pleasant, gentle scents evoke familiar images in me. Perhaps scents are easily lost, yet they are also the last things to linger in memory. Because deep impressions and memories of people we've met and places we've been often begin with unique, unmistakable scents. We can easily return to the past when we recognize a familiar scent somewhere, guiding our minds.

Once, while wandering through the suburbs, I was greeted by fields of ripening rice, lush green cornfields, and ponds dotted with floating water lilies. The entire countryside was permeated with the pristine scent of the earth, the fragrant aroma of ripening rice captivating my heart. Along the roadside, patches of dry grass and straw lay exposed to the early spring sun. Fresh mud clung to the green lotus leaves, and a few blossoms shyly fluttered beside butterflies. All of this evoked an incredibly familiar, rustic scent, a stark contrast to the smell of asphalt and city traffic that had faded into the distance.

Illustration: Tra My

That moment brought back so many memories of the familiar scent of my mother's homeland, as comforting as the sweet milk that nurtured my soul as I grew up. And I felt as if I were standing under the sky of my hometown, all the initial unfamiliarity gradually fading away. Only a gentle, peaceful feeling remained, like a cool stream flowing through my heart.

Sometimes my feet long to return and run amidst the vast fields, gently treading on the soft, smooth mud. To run to the village dike, stand by the riverbank, and fill my lungs with the nostalgic scent of the countryside. I want to carry with me the fragrance of the harvest, the scent of the heavenly grains, the hazy smoke rising from the reeds, the aroma of ripe fruit in the riverside garden, to lighten the dreams of city life. Far away, a yearning flickers within me to return and lie down beneath the old bamboo grove, to be a young shepherd boy engrossed in turning the pages of a new book, the scent of fresh ink mingling with the fragrance of grass and trees.

Within me, nothing is richer than the memories of windswept rivers, fragrant fields, and my mother's tireless figure throughout the seasons. Nothing compels me to return more than the reddened eyes of my mother at sunset each time she saw me off. Nothing fills me with strength more than waking up in my mother's house in the morning, amidst the gentle scent of burning wood and the joyful chirping of birds outside the window. I grew up in the fresh, airy countryside, and I realize that for months and years, the scent of the fields has permeated every fold of my mother's clothes, her hair, and her worn-out hat. My mother's sweat fell, allowing each seed to sprout—seeds buried deep in the warm earth, including the seeds of conscience and goodness in each of her beloved children.

The scent of the countryside in my heart is always imbued with the smell of my mother's sweat, the scent of her hard work that shaped me, a scent that wafts through folk songs with mustard flowers, betel nut trees, and rice stalks. Even if I were to anchor myself amidst towering skyscrapers and the deep shadows of the city, my soul would always remain a rustic soul, speaking with the accent of my homeland, cherishing it nine times out of ten. And deeply ingrained in every inch of my heart is the scent of the fields, the straw, and the gentle fragrance of the alluvial soil flowing downstream.

Source: https://baodaklak.vn/van-hoa-du-lich-van-hoc-nghe-thuat/202504/van-vuong-lan-huong-dong-noi-aa61550/