A Gentle Rainy Season

Do you remember how, when we were young, we used to catch fish and play together in the clear river, gather rice stalks and wheat ears in the fields after the harvest, look for wild fruit in the fields, search for pennywort among the weeds, and carry baskets on our backs as we cut grass for the pigs? How we used to sneak fruit from roadside fields on our way to and from school, skate on the river in winter, drag classmates home to eat with us, gather around to watch little beggars, play games, and read comic books... Do you remember that sweet big yellow dog who grew up alongside me? We called him “Big Yellow.” He was like a faithful guard: every day he walked us to the school gate, then turned back home on his own. When school let out, he waited for us by the big wooden bridge at the edge of the village. When we went to work in the fields, he would quietly sit or lie on the ridge, and once we were done, he would bound along beside us all the way home, tail wagging. If anyone tried to bully me, he would bark furiously at them, and sometimes even attack.

What stories would we have when, years later, we stepped onto the campus of our youth?