This morning the street is full of fog again

Early in the morning, a photographer friend posted an exclamation on Facebook along with a series of photos: This morning the street is full of fog again! A person who loves Vinh city like him, there is not a single day that he does not find some reason to multiply that love. Some days it is because of the sun, some days it is because of the rain, some days it is because of the fog and some days it is because of... the fog again. He diligently works with each tree branch, each flower bud, each wall, alley, river bend, and lake surface. It is familiar yet fresh. He makes me see this city as more magical.

At the corner of a familiar coffee shop on Dinh Bat Tuy Street, he took off the camera that had just followed him around town, took a sip of hot tea and said: How strange, this year seems like there is no winter! At this point, you can still wear a short-sleeved shirt to go out, if you don't mind the dew. I looked at him, his hair falling over his forehead, still covered with dew. He said, he went "hunting" for dew at 5am. Starting from Vinh Market Crossroads, going down to Phan Dinh Phung. At that time, the car lights still had to be on and the street lights were still on. I saw people pedaling, people carrying... wet morning vegetable baskets. Young green leaves waving out from the tarpaulins. The women, usually silent but sometimes turning to chat with each other. Those were the small traders bringing goods to the market, getting up early and leaving early to prolong the working day. At the end of the day, they yawn and return home, exhausted on their vehicles, dreaming of a good night's sleep and then sinking into the early morning mist again.

The remaining row of ancient mahogany trees on this road in the mist looked strangely solemn. The Cua Nam overpass looked sleepy under the yellow streetlights. Below, the surface of Cua Nam lake seemed to be covered in billowing smoke. It was unclear whether the mist was descending or rising from the lake. The shadows of the trees by the lake were only vaguely visible under the calm surface of the water.

He went around the small streets of Hong Son ward to go to Cua Tien bridge. The Cua Tien river was also foggy at that time, occasionally seeing a small boat moored alone in the deserted. The curtains on the arched windows were still closed. Under that boat, there were the humble lives that he had visited many times, talked to and brought back many sorrows. Along the streets that were increasingly modern, bustling, and flashy on normal days, there were still people floating and drifting. He knew that in just a few minutes, the woman in the boat's cabin would get up, pull up the bamboo curtain, stir a pot of coal right under the boat's cabin, quickly cook a bowl of noodles and start a new day with the anxiety of making a living as a fisherman. Anyway, looking at this foggy sky, she would be happy because there would be another beautiful sunny day.

Then he would return to the spacious streets early in the morning. At that time, the only people who were most crowded were those who were exercising. A few sidewalk banh muot shops were glowing with charcoal stoves. The flocks of pigeons that still flew out on Tran Phu Street these days were barely visible. The cars still had their headlights on, even when it was already 6am…

He said he was familiar with every tree, every pothole on every stretch of Vinh street, and knew that in just a moment, everything would be clear again under the bright sunlight of an infinitely warm winter day, and his Vinh street would once again show its familiar bustling, chaotic, and frivolous appearance. But at this moment, the whole street was covered by a hazy, wandering mist. So that he could see it mysterious and gentle. He seemed to be telling me: When you walk in the early morning mist, you will have a completely new feeling. It is like suddenly living in another world and everything is as hazy as a dream. As if witnessing the city sinking into a deep sleep, somewhere the sound of a leaf falling on the thin sidewalk "as if falling sideways" in Tran Dang Khoa's poem. Somewhere a flower bloomed early, wet, quietly spreading its own fragrance in the hazy, silvery curtain.

You will hear, somewhere, the sound of a cleaning lady sweeping the trash on Ho Tung Mau Street. Moving a little closer, the figure of that hard-working woman will gradually appear, but her face is not clear. There is a bit of tiredness and listlessness, you feel that in her gait, but at the same time, you also believe that like any other job, she will also be happy if she is a labor lover. Her job is to collect trash, her world is morning dew, night dew, and of course her joy is also like that: the neatness and cleanliness of the street after cleaning, the pungent smell of dew, the silence of Vinh late at night or early in the morning. She will love all of those things like a writer loves his book and pen, like a musician loves handwritten music, a singer loves the stage, a farmer loves the fields. She, perhaps, always sings softly.

You will see people watering the grass in the Square. They are not watering, but they are painting, they are singing a song about labor in the quiet picture of the early morning. They are painting without knowing that that moment has made you so fond and moved. Their footprints melt away the wet dew on the brick paths. And from their hands, water-flowers seem to bloom, sparkling and overflowing.

At Quan Lau market, the first flower seller arrived on a bicycle with a box of water lilies tied to her back, freshly picked from a pond somewhere in Hung Nguyen, Nam Dan. The woman walked very slowly in the mist, but was still the first to arrive. She brought a little color and fragrance across the street that seemed to be known to too few people…

The autumn mist is light and airy. The winter mist is thicker, colder, and more hazy. This year's season is strange, the weather is capricious, it's December but the days are still bright and sunny, people on the street are still wearing summer clothes. Only the early morning weather, with its thick mist, gives them the feeling that winter is about to come, but the cold is not really cold. The mist is indifferent, as if half regretting autumn, half waiting for winter.

You will think of your loved ones who are still sleeping soundly in their warm rooms, the closed windows in the old attics, the wet bougainvillea trellises, the bouquet of daisies someone threw into the trash can on the side of the road last night, suddenly looking fresh again in the mist. You will think of someone's light just turned on in a narrow window, the shadow of a stray cat nimbly slipping into a tree hole, the shrill sound of someone's car horn in the mist, the cold seeping down your throat, causing a cough to start. But you will breathe deeply into your chest that cold air, that strong misty smell, and then feel like you are melting into the pure, quintessential flavor of heaven and earth.

Then you will think about yourself, about your body and the mysteries in your soul, a feeling that you have never experienced before. The world before your eyes is so new, the world inside you is also so, suddenly it seems to become strangely clear and pure. As if by chance, Phu Quang's song suddenly rings on your lips: "Sometimes I miss a cool breeze. Sometimes I miss a morning with flying mist". You think, as if the musician wrote this song just for you, and just for Vinh street. And you not only love these roads, this life more, you also love your wandering, lonely moments immensely.

And now, if it’s a day off, sit in a corner of a familiar cafe, alone or with someone, waiting for the dew to melt on the treetops outside, drifting into the romantic windows on Nguyen Cong Nghiem, Tran Quang Dieu, Phan Dang Luu, or right here on Dinh Bat Tuy. And maybe, you’re longing for the sunshine, but maybe you’re also longing for the cold days to come. To crave the feeling of touching someone’s warm hand, to crave the rustling wind and reminisce about the distant days, to crave the feeling of a year almost ending… The old days are gone, so that a new day can begin!