In those days, the banks, the mulberry fields, the fragile bamboo boats anchored on the banks of the reeds along the riverbank went into childish drawings naturally.
Love of nature, painting, literature, travel, probably originated there. Later when I grew up, I wanted to go to strange lands, so I didn’t have many trips to the villages in the delta of the Northern rivers. Those mulberry fields are buried somewhere in the nostalgia of expatriates
Their homeland appeared before my eyes. Tho Ha ancient village, the name is so rustic, so rustic. It’s still the same boat that crossed the Cau River every year, but now there is no one to call the boat or row the boat anymore, there is a machine to take care of it.Tho Ha ancient village is still three sides of the river like an island, but where is the charm now? The narrow and deep old village streets and alleys that were once resplendent because of the beauty of the crockery and broken pottery walls were plastered with only mud from the Cau River.
Some old houses with closed doors and bolts remained in the alleys. In the past, the quality of the North could only be left in the village gate, famous for being the most beautiful in the lower Cau River, on the roof of the communal house, the mossy pagoda roof, beside the hundred-year-old banyan trees.
The feelings have melted with each red light, merged with the brown colors and disappeared in the deep river bed. Only the wave full of pain remained, remaining silent forever. Leaving an irreparable void in the memory domain, a nostalgia that grows thicker over the years. Like the color music from nostalgia keeps humming.