October back to mom

October is here, do you know yet? Come with me back to my mother's hometown. The path has been covered with gentle golden sunlight. The rows of areca trees beside the alley are bustling to welcome the season. My mother's thin, small figure gently opens her arms to embrace me. I am happy, my heart beats with each fluttering beat, I hastily hug her thin, small shoulders, filled with the salty sweat of time.

The sunlight in the yard is a bright yellow, sparkling on the pile of firewood that my mother had piled up the day before. The dry firewood is full in the kitchen, the red fire will soon flare up. The sunlight in the yard is full of beans, my mother uses the sun to dry them, to save seeds for the next season. And the batches of sweet potatoes filled with honey make me dream of an October day, slowly enjoying each delicious piece. In those innocent days, I don’t calculate the gains and losses, always looking at the joyful sunshine in my eyes. The October sunlight is more bustling than a harvest season, regardless of the sparrows chirping….

October comes to mother, I am immersed in the sweet scents. The basin of sparkling yellow soapberry water that mother left by the well. I remember when I was little, my mother used to scoop ladles of water to wash my hair. The sparkling water covered my hair, and the scent of soapberry was faintly fragrant. Mother smiled and said that the scent of soapberry is the scent of my hometown, when I grow up it will spread all over the world, and every child will remember it. I miss the sweet scent of soapberry, my mother's thin hands covered with calluses. My mother's hands gently touched my long, shiny hair. Oh, I miss those dear old days so much and now I just wish I could be a kid again.

October comes to my mother, I miss the distant winds, the sweet cold wind blowing on the windy countryside. The kites flutter with many unanswered thoughts, the shepherds sing to forget the buffaloes and cows grazing in the afternoon fields. The purple grass sways, I walk over it but they stick to the hems of my pants and shirts. The wind of the fields surrounds the grass, next to the homemade fire, the smell of roasted corn is fragrant. The eyes and faces light up, on the lips with a smile. We sang and had really happy days. My friends, those magical years.

October comes back to my mother with gentle memories, recalling the times when my mother lovingly knitted me a sweater. The sweater was worn during the cold season of fifth grade. It was simple, not fussy, but it is still the most beloved memory in my life. Even though the years have passed, the love and warmth from that sweater still seem to be here. Every cold season, I remember my mother, remember the hard work of my mother in the past when she devotedly took care of her little children.

Come back to mom in October to anchor the peaceful, happy moments with the beloved woman who gave birth to you. Come back to mom to see how small you are and how you need to slow down for yourself and for those you love…