Country afternoon

(Baonghean) - The kite tilted, turned low, then soared high as if to show off the innocent charm of the kite dance. The young calf looked up at the sky. In its big, round, watery eyes, a patch of blue sky with a strip of white clouds across was sparkling. July, early autumn, the land and sky were still hot with the heat of summer. The country road through the fields kicked up layers of gray and red dust behind the wheels of the vehicles going back and forth. The dust kept rising, drifting with the wind, then gently landed, disappearing into the fertile, endless, immense green of the young rice fields.

Photo: Internet

My childhood was full of countryside afternoons. Countryside afternoons that were both familiar and strange. Countryside afternoons that seemed to have receded into memory, yet they still haunt me. The same blue sky, yellow clouds, white clouds, but the colors of the dying day never overlapped, never faded in the sense of youth. Countryside afternoons carry a soul - the soul of the countryside; and that soul of the countryside has nurtured the country people, no matter where they go, they still find it hard to forget their roots. That root, both spiritual and physical, will appear as a warning when people are about to lose their lives and commit evil deeds; will appear as a consolation when people make a mistake and fall into poverty, wavering in the market of life...

Afternoon in the countryside…

When the last rays of the fan-shaped sunlight cast long, dark purple streaks on the western horizon; when the temple bells rang out in the silence; when the yellow ox pulled the cart, slowly and leisurely, back to the village with a leisurely, leisurely roar - the rhythm of life, the rhythm of time seemed to slow down. And I suddenly realized that I was opening my heart to feel, to take in the peaceful breath. The countryside afternoon has no place for hustle and bustle; no place for calculation, the competition of the mundane world. The blue smoke crept, embracing the old, withered bamboo shoots; and a faint, gentle south wind just brushed by, tearing off a few dry, yellow leaves, letting them spin and fly...

Y Nguyen