Nacre changing season

These days, my heart keeps moving at night with the sound of leaves falling … The sound of leaves rustling in late sleep.

Illustrative image (Source: Internet). Does the leaf want to say something? A tree life? A human life? The season of nacre is changing, the late spring winds blow away the yellow leaves. The rustling sound of autumn in the southern hemisphere – the home of this tree is like coming here. At night, the sound of leaves flying into her sleep, dreaming, awake … There were many trees behind her house before. Not only nacre, but eucalyptus, kim Giao, longan, eagle and especially the black-and-gold flowers keep burning brightly every autumn. The garden was full of trees, birds chirping all day long. There were years when the storks and cauldron came back to nest. In the morning, there were white streaks of lime under the white pathway like someone had just swept. There was a pair of brownish-tailed squirrels, too, climbing quickly, sparkling black eyes that occasionally darted cute glances at her. The school yard was expanding day by day, the muscular and shiny trees fell down, replaced by clean, empty concrete. The tree canopy was also gradually pruned to fight storms, the rest of the nacre trees were bare, trying to rise to the sky as if they wanted to run away from human hands. In the season of nacre change clothes, the yellow leaves whirled from above to land on the concrete floor and rolled on the road, whispering the pain of tree life … Spring, on chopped branches, shoots sprout around old season wounds. Then rose petals spread out like waving her tenderly. The wounds on the tree trunk gradually darkened and hid behind the new green leaf canopy. Particularly large branches were amputated, not a single sprouted tree. The scar was larger than the face of a person exposed to the sun and rain. She watched those scars day in and day out and reflected on life … Are there fatal wounds that never heal? Are there scars that exist to remind us not to forget, to live a better life, to be more kind? There are pains that must be hidden and pains to be shared, understood …? The great mother of nature with immortality always wanted to tell man something. The thin flowers that pierce through the white snow or bloom brilliantly in the arid desert, towering on the top of the high mountains and blooming all four seasons around me do not represent that eternal beauty! The season of nacre is changing clothes, the charming winds keep sweeping away the yellow leaves, taking the whole April to the sunny summer … The sound of rustling suddenly whispered very strange / Please cherish the life around you / Please cultivate a pretty bud / Let the planet forever shimmer / An endless green …