Thanh minh season – Algae: LETTER AND FIRE!

The soft, italic letters she had written to him with the ink colors of that day far away. They were shivering and beautiful like a woman far away from her husband in passionate love. She has kept them as her treasures since his death.

Early autumn. There the fog became clear in the hills. Forty years then the dew goes on falling and remains transparent. Mist was light in her hair, her slightly curly, cloudy hair is now close to the color of the mist. Mist blended in a magical, pure white smoke soared up. Shakily, she lifted her thick, neatly tied booklet, which had been stained with gold in the past. She has carefully kept them and the letters he has written to her for forty years! The soft, italic letters she had written to him with the ink colors of that day far away. They were shivering and beautiful like a woman far away from her husband in passionate love. She has kept them as her treasures since his death. The letters with her have seen so many autumn seasons pass even without him – a talented and destined husband soon passed away at the age of four-five. The fall is special with blue hair. The fall is special with white hair. The autumn leaves yellow leaves … Forty autumn had passed, etched on her face many traces of ups and downs, suffering, loneliness, and fear. That vitality, that soul, and that happiness still shone in her eyes. Countless tears of happiness and bitterness each earned. Forty seasons passed, she never forgot the man of her life. No one can replace him. Even now, his face, his voice, his smile, his figure and his soul filled her mind. Yes, in that place the mist had become transparent. She saw the white mist drifting softly, a fantastical, far away color. The remote mountainous area is covered with mountains and hills and thousands of white clouds gradually appear in the sacred smoke … There he and she met in the days of resistance and hardship. A simple and crowded wedding of a nurse in her hometown ripe red during the famous lychee seasons with a young teacher from Nam Dinh study land volunteered to start a career in the highlands. They – a pair of talented boys and girls. There she had four gentle, fragile daughters like four angels. There, she became a doctor in the highlands with a lot of work and dreams of saving people far away from the border! That place is high mountain. Mountainous region with simple people like mountains, sincere like hills and free soul like cool streams flowing, flowing forever … Flowing away. Flowing away. The Red River is rolling dark red alluvium that has dared sweat, tears and blood for generations. She thought dreamily about that beautiful and poor country, where people are always open, honest and open, they are so romantic like clouds, their souls are as green as a mountain, clear like a spring … The letters are being transformed into flames. The flames are doing their part. Fire broke out and the spirit rang with the sound of leaves. Strong aroma of smoke and alcohol. (Before burning the letters, she splashed on them a few drops of fragrant wine, the famous mountain corn wine he liked in the past …) She sent him the whole autumn through each green leaf dome and the whispering song of the wind. She sent him the blue sky and the richness of the trees floating with white clouds. Yes, only you know, you only understand. Only he felt deeply and saw through her sadness as clear as the dewdrops of her morning dew. Only he knows how beautiful she is. How charming and lonely, how small? Because of that, she understood very well why she became stronger, stronger, weaker and more lonely than many other women. Wherever she went, she could see his footprints with him. In whatever joy with her children and grandchildren, she realized that his smile sparkled, They were imprinted on the autumn paths of her life. The letters have flown to the sky and you will get it all. She smiled contentedly and found herself no longer alone. I feel more beautiful, gentler, and softer as many women in this world. Standing still in front of his grave, gazing at the silent motion picture on the tombstone, she gazed up at the windy sky overflowing white clouds. In the widow’s heart, there was a whisper: “Please send back love in the golden autumn seasons” … And here, right now the transparent autumn droplets are falling sparklingly! PTPT (Celebrating the seasons of my family’s hometown – Tiet Thanh Minh is always pure)