Everyone slows down a beat when passing by that peach tree. Some people stand and admire, some people raise their phones to take pictures, some people gently touch the flower branch as if touching a wish. Spring seems to start from simple moments when people know how to stop in the busyness to enjoy the beauty of a flower branch.
Inside the ancient temple roof, the incense smoke is thin like mist. Hands clasped together, eyes slightly closed. Spring is the season of faith and hope. Wrinkles on the elderly's hands, the respectful gaze of middle-aged people, the quiet posture of young men, all blend together to send something for the new year, from health to peace, from career advancement to a promise to change for oneself.
Outside the yard, the old calligrapher diligently writes letters on red and yellow paper. Black ink permeates each strand of paper as if permeating the writer's heart. Each stroke of pen is trembling but firm. Spring is not only in peach blossoms, but also in the words "Phuc", "An", "Duc" given wholeheartedly. The calligrapher receives the paper, cherishes it like a New Year's gift, light but warm.
In another corner of the lake, the brilliant yellow flower carpet highlights the bright red words "Happy New Year". A little girl stands silently in front of that flower sign, her hair tied with a small bow, as if reading each word with innocent eagerness. In the crowd, red horse-shaped balloons sparkle with the wind. Behind is a majestic monument, in front is a bustling sea of people. Old and new, quiet and dynamic, tradition and rhythm of life today coexist in one frame.
There are truly romantic and lovely moments when a girl wearing a pink ao dai smiles, raising her hand to greet in a command gesture with a young policeman by the calm lake. In the distance, an ancient tower reflects its shadow in the quiet blue water. In the corner of the flower garden, a little girl in a pink dress bends down to touch the small flowers, while her mother patiently records every moment. Further away, the young couple sits quietly for the artist to sketch portraits, their eyes are silently but warm. Spring is when we want to keep each other in a picture, a stroke, a touch of hand.
Perhaps, Spring is not just the transitional moment of heaven and earth. It is the feeling of being restarted, being trusted, being loved. It has the pink color of peach blossoms, the red color of bridges, the yellow color of flower carpets, the green color of lakes and even the deep brown color of wooden statues in the streets. But above all, Spring has the color of smiles, of hope, of hands reaching out to greet each other in peace.
And when stepping out of those spaces, we carry a little warmth in our hearts. Gentle, but enough to believe that the new year will be as bright as the morning of Spring opening before our eyes.
