A sun-drenched country garden

My childhood was intertwined with the lush green garden behind my grandmother's house, a peaceful space in the countryside where I grew up surrounded by the chirping of birds and the sweet fragrance of flowers and fruits on sunny summer days.

Illustrative image.

After the first summer showers, the sun bursts forth in a shimmering amber hue, the entire garden seemingly donning a new, vibrant coat, brimming with life. On crisp summer mornings, sunlight bathes the garden, making the dew drops clinging to the leaves glisten like countless tiny jewels. Sunlight filters through the verdant foliage, creating dancing specks of light on the ground. It sparkles on the clusters of bright yellow gourd flowers. It flutters on the delicate wings of butterflies and dragonflies hovering over the newly bloomed lilies. Under the scorching sun, the trees in the garden stretch their branches, casting refreshing shade. Beside the pond stands a large mango tree, its branches and leaves abundant, each summer laden with clusters of plump, green fruit. I remember those afternoons when we'd sneak away from our afternoon naps, climbing the tree with our neighborhood friends to pick the crisp green mangoes, slicing them up, mixing them with salt and chili, and sharing them while laughing loudly throughout the garden. Nearby stood a sticky rice-growing vối tree, its trunk covered in patches of green moss, yet every summer it would burst forth with tender shoots and pretty, creamy white flowers. A gentle breeze would blow through its canopy, carrying the slightly pungent aroma of young vối leaves. My grandmother would often pick the vối buds, dry them, roast them until golden brown, and carefully store them in an earthenware jar, waiting until winter to brew them with a few slices of fresh ginger to warm the stomach. This simple, rustic drink accompanied my family through countless cold winters, so familiar that whenever I smell the scent of vối tea in the wind, my entire childhood comes flooding back.

The garden has become a cherished memory that I will always treasure. There, my friends and I could freely run barefoot on the cool, damp ground covered with fallen leaves, engaging in all sorts of mischievous activities like climbing trees, catching dragonflies, scavenging for cicadas, and digging for crickets. Sometimes, we would hang hammocks in the forks of the guava tree, swaying gently in the breeze, watching the rustling leaves and listening to the joyful sounds of life. The buzzing of bees searching for nectar, the chirping of birds, and the buzzing of cicadas blended together like an endless summer symphony. The rustling of the wind through the leaves was like my grandmother's whispered stories of the past. The garden was also where my grandmother taught me my first lessons about loving nature, appreciating simple things, and the joy of labor.

My childhood was spent peacefully in my small garden, a place filled with so many sweet memories. Whenever I felt tired or overwhelmed by work, I would return to my grandmother's house, to the sun-drenched garden. There, I could peacefully immerse myself in the fragrance of flowers and fruits in the garden, bathed in sunlight and overflowing with love.

Lam Hong

Source: https://baonamdinh.vn/van-hoa-nghe-thuat/202504/vuon-que-day-nang-b0178f0/