VI
EN
"Flowers bring forth the blossoming of spring."
After reading this quote by Zen master Dogen: "Spring makes flowers bloom, and flowers make spring bloom," I turned to him and said, "I understand this feeling. No matter how gloomy I was before, the moment spring arrives, feeling the unusually joyful atmosphere of nature, my heart still feels unusually happy."
Indeed! There isn't a single spring when I'm not happy. There isn't a single spring when I don't decorate my house with fresh flowers and dedicate my time entirely to the things I enjoy. There isn't a single spring when I don't savor the pleasant atmosphere of nature with a free spirit.
I asked:"Do you love spring?"
He replied:"Of course! You have to experience the harsh winter days and observe the movement of everything around you to truly know what spring is."
I asked, "Do you love spring?"
I'm a Saigon girl, living through two rainy seasons and sometimes experiencing little rain, so I can't really feel about spring the way you do. But thanks to you, thanks to the springs we spent together, wandering from the coast to the high mountains, encountering countless damp rains during the transitional seasons, seeing countless forests of flowers blooming each spring, and lush green meadows bursting with life… I have my own springs.
I still vividly remember my first visit to his hometown in Ba Vi, Hanoi, right during the transitional season. The bitterly cold winter days gradually gave way to the first drizzle of the new year, and the gentle rays of sunshine awakening the gardens. He drove me along the dike road, turning into villages with bright red tiled roofs, passing by fields of golden mustard flowers swaying in the spring breeze that still carried the chill of the previous season.
Returning home filled me with an unusual sense of joy. My mother's garden was always full of flowers: roses, bougainvillea, chrysanthemums, orchids, white plum blossoms, yellow plum blossoms, peonies… The peach tree in front of the gate, with its delicate pale pink petals, looked so fragile, yet at the same time, it exuded the vibrant beauty of a young woman in her prime. Every year during Tet (Lunar New Year), children who lived far away would come home with their parents to bring potted flowers from the garden into the house to decorate. My mother said, "When you come home, spring truly enters the house; when you haven't, spring remains at the gate."
The peach tree in front of the gate, with its delicate pale pink blossoms, looks fragile, yet at the same time, it exudes the vibrant beauty of a young woman in the prime of her youth.
January may bring a cold spell, but then the sun shines brightly again. Once, I experienced what I call the pure joy of a warm, sunny spring day when my parents called the family members to bring out the damp blankets, sheets, and clothes to dry in the yard. That scene reminded me of a poem by the poet Sekiu:
"Little sparrow"
Bring the joy of travel
In the wings that fly
In the early days of this spring, I spent time sitting by a pot of fragrant chrysanthemum tea, slowly reading Japanese poems translated into Vietnamese and neatly arranged in the book "Three Thousand Fragrant Worlds" by the author Nhat Chieu. In it, he mentioned the poem above and wrote:“Through their clouds, those birds flew to the very end of song, to the very end of poetry. But how can poetry ever reach its end? No, it is merely a return. A return to the first song. A return to the dawn of all dawns. To play with nothingness, with the dawn, with the spring of all springs… Only children and birds know how to play, possessing the spirit of play in nothingness.”
It must be said that spring is a favorite theme of poets, writers, painters, musicians... Throughout history, the cycle of spring has returned, bringing with it so much inspiration to sensitive souls always moved by nature. Perhaps I have never fully experienced every moment of spring, but I always cherish spring in my mind and am certain that each spring is a return to myself, to meet again with loved ones, joyful like a little sparrow.
Throughout history, the cycle of spring has returned, bringing with it immense joy to sensitive souls always moved by nature.
"Spring makes the flowers bloom."
The number of springs in my memory is countless. These are beautiful times when I get to admire the sight of "spring making the flowers bloom."
One day in January, we woke up at 5 a.m. and went into the pine forest of Bản Áng, Mộc Châu, strolling around the lake, looking for a beautiful spot to watch the sunrise. I had to wear two layers of thin woolen sweaters and a thick coat on top. Around 6:30 a.m., the sun rose, its light reflecting on the lake's surface, shimmering, sometimes dim, sometimes bright. Every single moment was breathtakingly beautiful, a beauty that no words or photographs could possibly capture.
The pine trees, partially hidden by the early morning mist and the first rays of sunlight, reminded me of my visit to Ba Vi Mountain, also at dawn. The sunlight filtering through the towering pine trees created streaks of light and shadow on the trail, beautiful like a dream. I also remember spring in Da Lat. Besides the beauty of the clear light on the pine hills, we also admired the stunning natural scenery as the cherry blossoms burst into bloom. The vibrant pink flowers covered the sky.
The sky was covered with vibrant pink flowers.
Continuing our spring trip to Moc Chau, we wanted to visit the villages deep in the mountains, so we rented a motorbike and navigated the narrow, bumpy, and uneven roads. We followed a trail through the valley of white mustard flowers leading to Thong Cuong village. Both sides of the road were covered in apricot blossoms. We ventured into the apricot grove. The pure white blossoms captivated our hearts, making us reluctant to leave. We lingered, strolling through this romantic scenery until dusk.
The next day, we stood halfway up the mountain, looking down at Pa Phach village, feeling the peaceful beauty that spring brought. The spring shoots were a vibrant green. Herds of cattle ambled along the valley paths. A young ethnic girl walked slowly, carrying a basket on her back. A mother breastfed her child on the porch. Dark-skinned, rosy-cheeked children ran and played in the fields. Smoke rose from the cooking fires.
In my spring memories, there are also white bauhinia flowers. That time, we went to Dien Bien Phu together. March is when the bauhinia flowers bloom profusely, but it was February then, and they were only just beginning to open. We had to stand and admire them for a long time, shielding our eyes from the blinding sunlight to see the flowers peeking out from the high branches. Out of affection for the girl from the South visiting Dien Bien Phu for the first time, he secretly climbed a tree and picked a pure white bauhinia flower for me. The bauhinia flower has long become a symbol of the city. The tone of the locals when mentioning the bauhinia flower or the victory at Dien Bien Phu is filled with the same pride. The sturdy bauhinia tree sheltered the soldiers during wartime. According to legend, the bauhinia flower is also the embodiment of a Thai ethnic girl whose love was left unfulfilled. Perhaps, the return of the bauhinia flower in spring also brings back the belief in love, so even a traveler like me has a deep love for the bauhinia flower?
In my spring memories, there are also white bauhinia flowers.
I recall another spring in Ha Giang, a season of vibrant flowers and joyful laughter. The sun, after days of incessant rain, guided us to Lao Xa village, in Sung La commune, about 25 km from Dong Van town. Following the winding road between towering cliffs shrouded in silvery clouds, a dreamy, peaceful scene unfolded before us. Children in colorful traditional clothing, having just finished school, rushed out of the gate, holding hands as they walked across the fields of mustard flowers towards home. Deeper in the village, one by one, the earthen-walled houses appeared vividly. Interspersed with the weathered yellow hues were the vibrant pinks and whites of peach, plum, and pear blossoms. I was captivated by the spring blossoms clinging to the stone walls surrounding the houses. Their simple beauty was breathtaking.
On the road from Dong Van to Meo Vac, we were treated to breathtaking natural scenery. Along the way, there were bee farms, black chicken farms, lush green mustard fields, patches of green grass dotted with pretty wildflowers, and landscapes created by dew drops clinging to spiderwebs and plants. There were also hills covered in buckwheat flowers with tiny pink, purple, and white petals – a humble beauty amidst the vast mountains and forests. Our car had to stop frequently because each of us wanted to take in all the beauty of the season with all our senses. We strolled on the hillsides amidst the rows of buckwheat flowers in their prime, feeling like the flowers themselves, brimming with life.
Back then, I would return home feeling lost and bewildered, only able to cling to the essence of spring in a few lines of poetry:
"Spring leans on rosy red lips."
Peach blossoms lean over the fading pink tiled roof.
Her figure leans against the backdrop of the new season's painting.
The scent of time lingers, holding people back.
I felt like I hadn't even passed my twenties yet.
Embracing the dream of a bygone era of innocence.
Take your time loving, take your time waiting for sleep.
Awakened when the leaves sprout.
In my dream, I encountered a version of myself.
One me, one me, and another me
Searching for the meaning behind the meaning
Searching, getting lost, searching again…
A clear blue sky will not bring peace.
If anyone dares to tie or bind them, the wind will ache!
Wandering through the spring landscapes, I even encountered "a version of myself" standing on a high cliff overlooking the California Bay, gazing down at the ocean. A carpet of soft pink and purple wildflowers provided an ideal landing spot for pelicans. In the distance, seals basked freely on the pier. Along the streets of San Francisco, on Hollywood Hills, in parks, forests, waterfalls—every corner of California was covered in flowers.
While strolling through the spring scenery, I also encountered "a version of myself" standing on a high cliff overlooking the California Bay, gazing down at the ocean.
"One me" is heading towards the Wasatch Mountains where the thick layer of snow melts slowly under the late spring sun, looking like a mottled silk fabric. "Another me" is sitting behind the window of a car on a spring trip through the sunny, windy Central Highlands, watching butterflies flutter across the hills, singing "Spring Love Song," a song composed by Tran Hoan based on a poem by poet Nguyen Loan. The opening lines of the song are both sweet and poetic: "Oh my dear, spring has arrived on the branches. The birds' songs are so sweet, filling the deep blue sky. What a familiar scent, like warm lips. It sounds like the earth stirring to life."
The music was written around the time the couple had just been reunited. The joy of the couple in building a new life mingled with the reflections on the country's many hardships. Spring is not just a natural phenomenon, but also carries the meaning of hope. It is believed that wherever spring arrives, all things flourish, "carrying a playful spirit" like the little birds in Sekiu's song participating in the joyful game of nature.
"My dear, spring has arrived on the branches and leaves. The birds' sweet songs fill the deep blue sky. A familiar scent, like warm lips. It feels as if the earth itself is stirring and giving life."
