Endless Spring... - Quang Binh Electronic Newspaper

(QBĐT) - Tet will soon come. I listen to the sound of time falling steadily outside the window. And it is not strange, time is always old, only the human soul changes with the weather and the cold rains covering all things. The road along the Kien Giang river is hibernating, the carpets of yellow leaves, rotting under the rain, pushing out cute little holes. From here, the land turns yellow after the flood in early November, just like people realize many changes with the late aging months.

The alluvial deposits from the upstream to the downstream of Kien Giang River accumulated in the eyes of the elderly during the cold spell at the end of the year. The alluvial deposits told stories about the change in this year's rainy season. The alluvial deposits whispered to the river about the green, peaceful fields, and told the rain about the flooded villages.

The sadness is not new, but it is like the winter door, following the wind to the sea with secret thoughts. The trees shiver, shedding their last remaining leaves in the pouring rain, reminding me of the day I followed my mother to the rice fields. The cold blew into my wet face. The curved load of rice seedlings on the muddy path to the fields. My mother with the flying rain and sweat falling into the newly sprouted mud. The fields are straight, the newly planted rice rows swaying in the soaked raincoat.

Illustration photo. Source: Internet

My mother said, the rice is in straight rows because of the hands of the people who planted the rice, the rice fields are lush thanks to the alluvium. The alluvium enriches the rice fields, but floods make the joy less. Heavy rain, full rivers push human love along with the vast water. Having said that, my mother scooped up a handful of mud to look at, the smell of alluvium permeated every fiber of her flesh, rounding out distant memories.

Strangely enough, the land smells of straw, the native scent gradually spreads into the spring road, making the wild grass banks crowded under the canal with many fish and shrimps splashing around intoxicating. The land in this season receives the essence of heaven and earth. The cold makes the young buds shy and shrink, but they are the soulmates of the poetic land.

No more white-pink heels of village girls washing clothes by the river. One day the rain will repaint the countryside with a love stranded in memory. The wind sways with the smoky breath in the mysterious eyes of the humane folk song: “Spring comes, bustling rice fields/The shimmering sun paints a picture of the village/White storks fly around the fields/The wind pushes the clouds to drift gently/The alluvium is red, the green rice buds are blooming/Rice flowers are shining in dreams/Our country people sing songs of love for the land/Spring is warm, spring is joyful”.

That is an old song about poor thatched roofs and alluvial plains outside the bamboo fences that prevent floods and protect the village when the rainy season comes. Now the old memories have become a faded note in the haste of the land and sky entering spring. But the concrete walls and high-rise buildings have changed everything. The same village but the scent of soapberry and the pristine scent of grapefruit flowers is no longer there. Then the wild flowers along the Kien Giang River have also flown away. The flower vases in my house are filled with roses, lilies, carnations, even the old clay teapot has become an antique decoration that makes me nostalgic.

It’s not New Year’s Eve yet, but I can hear the sound of all things changing time. People are busy at the end of the year, thinking about the old year and the new year. All the calculations and worries are blown away by the wind. Looking at people shopping for Tet, bustling from one flower shop to another, I can see the meaning of life. Somewhere, the fresh yellow chrysanthemums in the hands of a young girl are budding, as if bringing Tet home early.

The weather at the end of the year is cold, the river wind blows coldly on the trees along the river. The sunlight is now precious, falling on all things intermittently, rarely. Looking towards the distant city, she told me, you see, if you pay a little attention, you will see that our hometown is as beautiful as a painting. And that's right, everything we love is beautiful. Just like the brown color of the young mud of the flood in November this year, now beautiful as a testament to the strength and perseverance of people...

I took a deep breath of the New Year's scent that was spreading through the village. I could hear the bustling aroma of ginger and banh chung rising from the smoky houses. I still remember many, many nights when we gathered together to wrap banh chung and listen to Tet music. The 30th night was always so poignant, passing so quickly, I wanted to hold back time but couldn't. It was just like that and my 50th birthday was near. This year the cold came earlier, the last rain of the year was whispering on the river's surface, I remembered the verses I wrote for the Spring issue last year: "The months and years are getting thinner/the tree of time sheds its leaves/mother warms the cold/with the last smoke of the year/Worries standing in front of the house/mother's footsteps sink/the road captures winter/the long wings of birds on sunny days/The old broom/wears mother's hands/the shape of spring in her eyes/the dream flickers/The calendar has fallen/busily disappears behind the rain at the beginning of the lane/longing for the smell of smoke/and mother's voice on the porch"...

This morning, standing by the river of my hometown, watching the water flow, I thought of spring knocking on every door. The brilliant yellow apricot trees were bursting with life, trying to reach up to the sky to breathe the year-end air. Spring comes and spring goes. Today's spring is also yesterday's spring. Endless spring in gentle memories, in the wistful and wistful present.

Spring has truly come, the grass, trees, and flowers are in full bloom. Spring appears on the red dirt country road with rows of neatly trimmed tea trees when Tet comes. It seems like somewhere a spring song is playing on the village loudspeaker. The countryside is strangely peaceful. Spring embraces the sky and earth, stretching along the riverbank and thanks to the grace of the wind, it sends the quiet echoes of many springs from ancient times.

Ngo Mau Tinh

Source: https://www.baoquangbinh.vn/van-hoa/202501/xuan-bat-tan-2223883/