Top 10 Best Essays on May

In May, the golden sunlight spreads like honey, enveloping trees, streets, alleys, gardens, and rice fields outside the city. The streets are lined with vibrant purple Lagerstroemia trees and the golden yellow of Cassia flowers, made even more beautiful by the sunshine. In the schoolyards, the red of the flamboyant trees has bloomed, accompanied by the symphony of cicadas singing in unison.

Golden butterflies flutter joyfully, resting on rose bushes, orchid pots, tree branches, home gardens, flower-filled roads, and wildflower patches. After enduring long periods of change, these butterflies are now living their happiest days.

The students are heading into the final stretch of the school year with exams, worries, and sleepless nights. Teachers are busy with lesson plans and exams, hoping their students will succeed in their efforts.

I recall a May many years ago when I too was a student, anxious about exams. Yearbooks were passed around, sharing innocent school memories. After graduation, we each went our separate ways, but we promised to meet every May when the red flamboyant trees bloomed, and the purple Lagerstroemia flowers filled the air with nostalgia.

Years have passed, and the purple ink of those yearbooks still lingers. Now, we are older, and our reunions bring bittersweet emotions as we remember those who have gone. We tell the same old stories, yet no matter how much time has passed, we remain children at heart when we are together. Though time moves on, the memories are still fresh in our minds.

On a May afternoon, sitting indoors and hearing the cicadas’ chorus, I remember the lazy summer days of my youth. The rice was harvested, and the hay was piled into mounds. In the quiet farming days, my mother would prepare bánh xèo (Vietnamese pancakes) with rice flour and green onions, served with fermented shrimp paste. The joy wasn’t in the ingredients or the cooking, but in the anticipation and the warmth of being together.

Gone are the carefree joys of childhood, replaced by the worries of helping my children through their own exams. Parents’ concerns can sometimes be even more intense than those of the students themselves. How I wish I could relive the exam days of my youth, eagerly waiting for results with my own children, sharing in their joy and sorrow.

In the Central Highlands, May brings both the summer heat and the rainy season. Streams form as water rushes down the slopes, growing stronger with each passing rain. I remember as a child, running toward these streams without fear, seeking thrill and wondering where the water went. Just like what we learned in geography, streams flow into rivers, and rivers empty into the vast ocean. Water follows its cycle, and just as we age and pass on, perhaps we too might return one day in a different form. Such innocent thoughts from my childhood.

May is the season of ripening fruits — the crunchy, sour-sweet guavas, juicy plums, sweet mangoes, and an abundance of jackfruit. But what I miss most are the wild fruits from my childhood, now becoming rare due to shrinking forests. I remember the tall rose apple trees that bore small, sweet purple fruits that would stain your tongue and teeth.

The most exciting part was picking these fruits in the forest, climbing trees to gather them. Occasionally, someone may sell these fruits, but they never taste the same as they did back then. Another wild fruit, from a shrub growing on hills, was the “chicken gizzard fruit.” It was yellow and beautiful but sour to the taste. We used to joke, 'Eat one chicken gizzard fruit, and drink three doses of medicine.' I’m not sure if it was true, but we ate them anyway, growing just like the plants in the countryside. So many trees, so many fruits — and so many sweet memories of May.

When May comes, I think of the muddy red roads, slippery with rain. I remember the ox carts rumbling along the dirt roads, with the tired oxen struggling under their heavy loads. Now, those roads are paved, and machines have replaced both human and animal labor. The city is now cleaner, more beautiful than before, but walking along flower-lined streets still stirs the heart with the melody of May.

Nguyễn Ái

When May comes to Hanoi, the city is painted in the striking reds of flamboyant flowers and the gentle purples of Lagerstroemia, evoking nostalgia and stirring emotions as if transporting one to the past. These colors seem to awaken memories, momentarily unsettling hearts as they dance between the present and distant recollections...

While Hanoi’s May has long been defined by the alluring reds and purples, for the past few decades, it has also been blessed with the soft, golden hues of an imported flower, believed to have arrived from the South after 1975. This flower, known by many names in Vietnam, each evoking a sense of elegance and regality—Yellow Cassia, Queen’s Cassia, Lantern Flower, Water Scorpion, Osaka Gold, Late Spring Mai, Late Blooming Mai—has found its place along West Lake, Lạc Long Quân Street, Âu Cơ Street, and around Hoan Kiem Lake, near Ngọc Sơn Temple.

The early summer sun is not harsh, merely casting a soft golden glow over the clusters of flowers that stand out against the vibrant green leaves, creating a picture so captivating it feels like stepping into a mythical kingdom of old.

The flowers bloom in large clusters, cascading down like drops of sunlight, their golden hue intensifying under the sun. As the sunlight deepens, the flowers unfold like tiny lanterns, and the tree becomes a chandelier of golden light, creating an atmosphere of royal splendor.

Each flower has five petals, oval in shape like drops of amber, covered in fine, velvety hairs. Its fragrance is light and subtle, like a faint perfume, evoking memories of the beautiful women of ancient Thang Long. Touching the flower feels like caressing soft silk, enveloping one in the timeless elegance of the past.

For reasons unknown, Hanoi has led me to admire the golden Cassia blossoms along West Lake. There is something almost surreal in the breeze by the lake, as if carried from a faraway land, soft and gentle, like a hand scattering fallen petals into a golden carpet that stretches along each step.

Your playful hand twists a strand of flowers around your neck, and as I watch you, a shiver runs down my spine. It feels like I’ve wandered into the labyrinth of ancient legends, standing beside the beauty of the capital, adorned with precious jewels and the weight of a thousand years of history. The petals fall endlessly, and I am mesmerized by your form, like a delicate piece of jade.

Could it be that the royal golden color of these flowers has ensnared me, transporting me into a dream of the distant past, stirring up a passion for the once-glorious golden age that now lies buried in the sands of time?

Could the golden hue of the flowers be like sunlight, weaving its way into my soul, reviving the forgotten legends of the imperial city of Thang Long, with all its stories of prosperity and decline, of triumph and turmoil?

This golden flower, often referred to as “luxurious” by today’s youth, has bewitched me, as though I’ve traveled back a thousand years to a world lost in time. Saying goodbye to Hanoi feels like parting with a fleeting beauty, a misty vision, as the Southern sun reminds me of a once-glorious past.

Hoài Hương

As May arrives, the crimson blossoms of the flamboyant tree and the deep purple flowers of the Lagerstroemia brighten the school yard, blending into a stunning display of color. The space seems to open up, stretched by the vibrant hues of the flowers. The intense sunlight pushes away the lingering spring fog, and in its wake, the air fills with the buzzing song of cicadas—nature’s music welcoming summer. The colors shimmer and reflect in the sunlight, casting an almost mystical beauty across the landscape...

May also evokes memories of the long holidays, reminding us of the historic victory of April 30th, 1975. It stirs a bittersweet nostalgia for lost loved ones, for the soldiers who left but never returned. The shadow of war, though almost half a century old, still lingers in the hearts of many. That day in 1975, like a summer storm, swept away the horrors of war, allowing the nation to step into a new era. Over the past 46 summers, the land that once lay scarred by bombs is now green and thriving, with factories and cities springing up where destruction once reigned. The traces of war have been swallowed by time, and many wounds have healed...

May brings with it the first rains of summer, nurturing the cucumber vines growing beside my mother's pond. The leaves grow lush, the flowers bloom brighter, and the young cucumbers sway gently in the wind. The bees, their bodies a deep black, hover over the yellow blossoms, tirelessly gathering nectar. The children, free from school, sit by the pond, chatting excitedly about the upcoming exams. Playful fish swim below, nipping at the petals that fall from the plants. The voices of villagers can be heard discussing crops, the new vegetable varieties sprouting after the rain. Meanwhile, young women snap photos of their gardens, eager to share them online. The village, during this summer season, is full of life, joy, and simple pleasures!

May is also a time of farewells for the graduating students, who fill their notebooks with heartfelt messages to one another. Their words, though often innocent and naive, are filled with hope, love, and dreams. There are the usual complaints, frustrations, and moments of sadness, but also a deep sense of optimism for the future. The handwriting, sometimes uneven and imperfect, still conveys the pure, untainted spirits of the students. The letters smudge, just as their eyes may tear up. As summer arrives, each student sets off in different directions—some to the mountains, others to the sea, some to the north, others to the south. But no matter where life leads them, the memories of their school days and the lessons learned will always remain in their hearts.

Bùi Nhật Lai

May brings a surge of emotions, as the flamboyant trees burst into bloom, lighting up the sky with fiery red blossoms. The Lagerstroemia flowers spread their deep purple hue, and the sound of cicadas fills the air with a symphony that echoes through the village.

The peaceful countryside transforms under the blazing red of the flamboyant trees, their vibrant colors sweeping across the horizon. The fields shimmer with a golden glow, signaling the arrival of prosperity. I recall long-forgotten Mays from my youth, when my village awaited the season with anticipation after enduring the long stretch of March. My mother, tirelessly cultivating rice and sweet potatoes, made sure our family never went hungry, even as we awaited the next harvest. May marks the peak of summer, the longest days and shortest nights of the year. While my parents barely sleep, the roosters herald the dawn, and they rush to the fields to begin the harvest. My mother carries the rice, while my father drives the cart full of harvested grain. The golden piles of rice spread out to dry in the sun, and though their clothes are drenched in sweat, my parents’ faces glow with happiness. Despite the worries of a sudden rainstorm or the frantic pace of the harvest season, their smiles reflect contentment. The rhythm of life in May is relentless—my mother leaves behind her sickle to start planting new rice seedlings, while my father tills the soil in preparation for the next planting season. The scorching sun of May has darkened their skin, but their eyes and smiles remain full of joy.

After many years away, I finally return to my village on a May day. The flamboyant trees still light up the sky, surrounded by the vibrant chorus of summer. The village, peaceful as ever, is filled with the familiar sounds of roosters crowing at dawn and birds chirping in the trees. The new rural development projects have transformed the village, with neat, paved roads leading to the rice fields. My parents have grown old and can no longer farm as they once did. Mechanization now dominates the fields. Modern harvesters can finish in an hour what once took days for dozens of people to accomplish. The long, restless Mays of my childhood, waiting for harvest, are now a thing of the past.

May will forever remain in my heart, like the memories of my childhood.

Vũ Thanh Huyền

Goodbye April, the month of transition, and welcome the vibrant May, filled with emotions that seem to burn brightly within the soul. May quietly tiptoes back into our lives.

This morning, with the holiday atmosphere lingering, I woke up a little earlier than usual. I flung open the door, and a fresh breeze rushed in, filling my small, beloved home. The first thing I did was take a deep breath, filling my lungs with the crisp air, then stepped outside to fully embrace the early summer beauty. May's landscape is painted in bright, lively colors.

The sky in May is unusually clear, free from the gloominess that April left behind. Golden rays of sunlight stretch across the roads, bathing the rice fields in warmth, gliding down the fresh green branches and kissing the grass beneath, causing the morning dew to sparkle before evaporating. How I love the golden sunlight of May!

May is a feast of colors with breathtaking flowers. The deep purple of the Lagerstroemia covers everything, bringing nostalgia and longing. The flamboyant trees, full of life, are about to burst into a fiery display, and I wait eagerly for that moment, as if waiting for the brightest moment of May. I am sure it will bring many exciting things.

On the roads of May, memories are etched in every step. In the late afternoons, children ride their bicycles along the fragrant rice fields, sometimes just for the sake of racing against time, or simply to enjoy a peaceful moment after a long day of school. Every step, every journey, becomes a cherished memory in their innocent hearts. And in the future, when they grow up, these memories will accompany them through life.

May fills me with a mixture of emotions. I eagerly anticipate it, yet I also feel reluctant. I look forward to the sight of May—the golden sunlight, the red flamboyant flowers, the enduring purple of the Lagerstroemia that I adore—but I also feel a deep sadness, for soon I will have to say goodbye to my beloved students, my children.

No one needs to make plans. When May arrives, my boat of memories comes ashore. The lessons seem to slow down, as if time itself is stretching. I wish I could stop time, wish the sunlight would dim a little, and delay the inevitable farewell. The children's innocent eyes are now tinged with sadness, perhaps they sense that the day is coming when they must leave the school they’ve loved for five years. These days, the children gather fallen leaves and press them in their notebooks, exchanging heartfelt messages in their yearbooks. Occasionally, they sit on the benches, silently reading the words they've written to each other. Their eyes, filled with tears, seem to long to hold on to time a little longer.

This year is special for them. In just a few days, they will leave the school they’ve known for five years and embark on a new journey at a different school, facing new challenges. My heart is heavy with worry for my dear children.

This May marks over fifteen years of my journey as a teacher. When I first entered this profession, my hair was still black, and I loved it deeply. And now, more than a decade later, with streaks of gray in my hair, I still love the purple of the Lagerstroemia, the red of the flamboyant flowers, and the white uniforms of my students.

This May stirs my heart once again.

Nguyễn Thanh Thuỷ

Like clockwork, when the weather begins to shift towards summer, and golden rays stretch across the towering trees and moss-covered rooftops, the time arrives for the Saul flowers to bloom, showcasing their colors and fragrance.

Over time, the Saul trees, often planted along streets and in parks, have become deeply familiar to all of us. As summer approaches, I always take a walk to admire the blooming Saul flowers, which carry a unique scent. Small, delicate clusters of flowers hide among the green leaves, so subtle that if you're not paying attention, you might miss them. The scent of the Saul flowers, much like that of longan or lychee blossoms in my hometown, is distinct and captivating.

The Saul flower acts as a natural reminder that summer is near. When you see these tiny, white flowers, it means the season of heat is just around the corner. They usually begin to bloom in early May, becoming an inseparable part of our lives. People often say that no matter how much time passes, the Saul flowers always hold a special place in the hearts of those far from home, like an old friend waiting patiently.

The Saul flowers also bring back unforgettable childhood memories. When I was young, my friends and I often played games beneath the shade of the Saul trees. When the flowers bloomed, we would collect the tiny petals that had fallen, string them together into necklaces or bracelets that we wore proudly. We even played at being a bride and groom, with the young couple wearing a crown made from Saul flowers—carefully crafted by our hands. I have countless memories of this simple, yet beautiful flower, recalling many nights spent walking under the moonlit sky, with petals drifting down like something from a fairytale.

I feel that the Saul flower isn’t as flamboyant as a sunflower, nor as delicate as a lotus, but it quietly occupies its own space in nature, dancing in the breeze, yet still able to captivate the heart. Every time summer arrives, the soft scent of the Saul flowers fills the air, lingering on the wind like an unspoken emotion. It's so bittersweet—this fragrance that stirs my heart but cannot be held on to. How quickly the Saul flowers arrive; just days ago, the trees were shedding yellow leaves, and now, after a few summer rains, fresh green leaves have replaced the bare branches, and the first blooms are beginning to show.

Another season of Saul flowers has come, and their scent fills the air, bringing freshness and purity to the city... I silently observe and appreciate these simple moments, which make me fall deeper in love with this little town.

Many seasons of Saul flowers have passed, yet I’ve never had the chance to hold someone's hand and share this moment, to breathe in the sweet fragrance beneath the city lights. I hope that day will come soon, so I won’t have to sigh and say, ‘Another season of Saul flowers has passed.’

Phương Uyên

May calls to me, bringing with it the first warm breaths of summer. It wilts my flower pots, and I, too, become lazy, lying in my room, letting the sunlight gently filter through the windows and fill my small space. It reminds me of my childhood, when the heat of summer would make me turn into a little wizard, hoping to summon a rainstorm. Back then, I believed in all sorts of myths from martial arts films, and all I wanted was a cooling downpour during the sweltering days.

May also brings its sudden summer showers, rushing in and out with little warning. Rain always seems to deepen my thoughts, pulling me into old memories. I love the rain, the feeling of cycling home under it after school. There's something special about the smell of the earth before the rain, the bubbles of water forming on the ground, and the sensation of being enveloped by the cool, clear rain while I’m bathing in it. They say when you're heartbroken, you should let yourself drown in the summer rain, where no one can see your tears, and you can cry freely. I often listen to the radio while the rain falls, watching the droplets float in the air, sweeping away all the bad things. After the rain, the sky clears, and the rainbow reminds me that good things are on their way.

May also marks the arrival of the phoenix flowers and the beautiful purple of the Lagerstroemia. The vibrant red of the phoenix flowers, the delicate purple of the Lagerstroemia, all ignite the hearts of students, stirring feelings of nostalgia and inspiration. The cicadas begin to sing, blending with the sound of school bells, pulling the footsteps of youth back to their days in school. Even as time moves forward, the image of the phoenix tree, casting its red shadow across the schoolyard, and friends gathered under the Lagerstroemia tree, will always stay with me. The flowers of the Lagerstroemia softly fall on their shoulders, and we would smile without a word. The baskets filled with phoenix flowers would be pressed between the pages of memory books, full of heartfelt messages. Our school years, the only time we’ll ever experience them, will eventually be replaced by life’s other challenges. But in those moments, it’s hard not to cherish the sweet smiles from classmates, the fleeting look of a friend’s grin that makes the world feel smaller and kinder. It’s in these small, seemingly insignificant moments that we realize how precious they were.

May calls to me with its bittersweet feelings, its fleeting moments that remind me of things long past. May brings nostalgia for the first love, the family, and all the familiar memories that shaped me. It’s the month that brings the essence of youth to the surface, and yet, the weight of time can never be ignored.

I often wonder, in ten years, will I be mature enough to appreciate and reflect on my life? Will I long to return to the days when I was seventeen? Regardless, I will live each day fully, so I won’t regret letting my youth slip away.

Collected Thoughts

They say May brings with it a hundred different kinds of longing… Perhaps it's because May marks the full arrival of summer, filling the air with the memories of childhood and the yearning of students. Stepping into May, who among us doesn't feel a little excited, a little wistful, with so many things to remember?

May is the month when we remember certain holidays we can never forget. It begins with Labor Day, a day that reminds us to appreciate time, cherish our work, and live responsibly not just for ourselves but for our communities. May also brings echoes of the fierce and heroic atmosphere of the Điện Biên Phủ campaign. We rejoice in the victory, but we are also reminded of the sacrifices made by our ancestors to give us the peaceful and beautiful country we live in today.

One morning in May, as the familiar song floats through the air, “Who loves President Ho Chi Minh more than the youth and children...,” I am reminded that May is also the month of his birth. It’s a time for us to feel gratitude and respect for Uncle Ho, the father of our nation, who devoted his entire life to the country. His wisdom, simplicity, and love for all people continue to inspire every Vietnamese citizen, and he remains a model for generations to come. Amidst the heat and bustle of May, we also celebrate Mother’s Day, a time for us to slow down and reflect on the immeasurable love and sacrifice of our mothers.

To be born of a mother, to be brought into this world by her, is already a great fortune. To be loved, nurtured, and protected by her without condition is the most precious gift we could ever receive. How blessed we are to still have our mothers with us, to see their faces and feel their presence every morning and evening. For as long as we have our mothers, we have a pillar of peace, warmth, and strength in our lives—one that nothing else can replace.

I also remember the old days in May, when the school year was coming to an end. The children in my village would start gathering paper, smoothing out bamboo sticks to make kites and fly them across the fields in the summer wind. I can still smell the scent of burning straw drifting along the roads, following me all the way home. May also reminds me of the piles of golden hay scattered throughout the village, where we would play hide and seek in the evening.

May brings to the students many memories tied to colorful blooms. The vivid yellow of the laburnum tree along the school path. The Lagerstroemia tree in front of the classroom, its delicate purple flowers swaying gently in the evening breeze. The bright red phoenix flowers, decorating the schoolyard, stir feelings of nostalgia, making us feel both excited and melancholic as we face the end of the school year or say goodbye to a friend in a white ao dai, a familiar smile fading away. In my heart, I can’t help but hum the tune: “The bunch of phoenix flowers you hold is the age of my eighteen years / When no one knew of my silent first love...”.

In the melody of time, May strikes a perfect balance between excitement and reflection. This is why May resonates deeply within us, forever leaving us with a sense of longing.

Essay by AN VIÊN

May to me is the sweltering heat of the sun, the oppressive air, and the sudden thunderstorms that pour down, drenching everything. May is exam season, filled with hustle, stress, and exhaustion... And May is the color of blooming Lagerstroemia, the fiery hue of Phoenix flowers, the relentless hum of cicadas, and the bittersweet season of farewells as students depart.

I’ve lived through many Mays with the same rhythm, sounds, colors, and emotions. This morning, however, as I absentmindedly looked at the branches of the old Khaya tree outside my classroom, I was taken aback by a “strange object”: a cluster of tiny, white flowers swaying gently in the breeze, sometimes hidden, sometimes visible in the green foliage.

Khaya flowers?!
It was the first time I’d ever seen them.
One... two... three...

No, there were hundreds, perhaps thousands of clusters hidden in the thick green leaves of these ancient trees that have shaded the schoolyard for nearly half a century. You might wonder: what makes these flowers so special that they delight me so much, that they make my heart rejoice? After all, it’s just a flower. What could be so remarkable about it?

Maybe you’ve seen them countless times without noticing. The flower’s color isn’t anything extraordinary. Its buds are small, modest compared to the sprawling green canopy above. Its fragrance is faint, sweet and light, carried on the breeze... But for me, these flowers bring an excitement that’s hard to describe.

And then, suddenly, I looked down at the schoolyard... For who knows how long, a carpet of flowers had covered the path. Under the sweltering heat of May, the flowers that fell quickly dried and shriveled, their size diminishing. The deep yellow flowers seemed to pulse with the sweet fragrance of May.

It’s been over 10 years since I first walked these school paths, through the corridors and under the shade of the Khaya trees. I’ve silently measured the age of the trees, gnarled and rough, as big around as several people can embrace. I’ve often stood on the school balcony, mesmerized by the rain of leaves every March—the season when Khaya trees shed their leaves. I’ve also spent countless moments gazing up at the large, round fruits hanging like smooth, wooden balls, reminding me of childhood games. Some fruits are old, splitting open to drop their seeds, leaving behind a brown shell that fans out like flower petals. These trees endure through cold winters, storms, and even the leafless season, only to burst back into life with fresh leaves. I’ve always considered these to be Khaya flowers—unique blossoms of my own.

Strangely, after all these years beneath the shade of these trees, watching them through every season, I had never really seen, or even imagined, the flowers of the Khaya tree. Perhaps it’s because May always belongs to the blazing red Phoenix flowers. Or perhaps I’ve been so mesmerized by the season when the trees shed their leaves that I’ve never bothered to look for their blossoms. Or maybe those “flowers” were enough for me, and I never felt the need to look closer for the true blooms.

For half a century, these Khaya trees have weathered the seasons with this school, leaving their mark on generations of teachers and students. Has anyone else ever seen these delicate white flowers? And has anyone else ever been as surprised and delighted as I was this morning?

How many small flowers have silently bloomed, silently faded, silently left behind their seeds? How many beautiful things have passed by us, unnoticed, on our journey through life?

I’ve often wondered: when I leave this school, will there be anything from these years of teaching that will bring me back?

And this morning, as I unexpectedly saw the clusters of Khaya flowers peeking through the green canopy, I realized...

Ho Xuan Thuy

This afternoon on the street, amidst the dancing golden sunbeams of May, I suddenly spotted the tiny purple buds of the summer flowers peeking through the branches of the Lagerstroemia trees that stood quietly along the road.

In just a few days, those buds will fully bloom, their purple blossoms swaying gently in the golden light of early summer, filling the street with their vibrant color. It’s the time of year when everyone can indulge in the beauty of these purple flowers, recalling memories of their school days in white uniforms.

May arrives, waking summer with golden beams of sunlight that spread over the world. This golden hue spills over the trees, casting a warm glow on the clusters of deep purple Lagerstroemia flowers, making the scene even more splendid and dreamlike. If we miss this fleeting moment of serenity, we’ll regret not seeing the flowers bloom, their soft purple hues, the signature color of May.

Lagerstroemia is like that – it bursts with vibrant color only to fade away quickly. As the days pass, the summer winds will carry away the petals, fading them bit by bit. The delicate purple petals will flutter, briefly displaying their beauty, before the wind sweeps them back to the roots, closing the cycle of their short life.

I still remember the road to school. On one hot May day in the past, I wore a green volunteer shirt and, together with my friends, dug holes and planted small Lagerstroemia saplings. Despite standing alone in the harsh conditions, the trees grew strong, spreading their green canopies over the road I walked to school. One summer afternoon, as I pedaled home, I noticed the first few small clusters of purple flowers beginning to appear. That moment was like the first stirrings of young love, and that summer, I believe, was the most beautiful one of my life.

Lagerstroemia blossoms beautifully in the early morning sunlight, glowing in the afternoon heat, and appearing even gentler as the evening light fades through the leaves. I would often look out the classroom window, lost in the sight of the purple flowers, accompanied by the sound of cicadas. Occasionally, a quick summer rain would sweep through, cooling the air. After the rain, the flowers would shimmer with droplets of water, casting rainbow hues on the lush green grass, reminding me to forget the exhaustion of my studies. That summer, with its deep purple hue, was full of affection.

As May slowly passes, the memories linger. Each evening after school, walking down the long road lined with purple flowers, my heart would be filled with nostalgia for the old purple blossoms. The petals of the Lagerstroemia would begin to fade after the cold rains. The days of youth were growing distant, much like the fragile purple petals. I would gather the memory of those flowers as I would gather the bittersweet moments of my school years, pressing them into my notebook. So many emotions now sealed in hasty lines of poetry:

“May teases with summer heat,
The sky is as blue as can be,
Lagerstroemia blooms full,
Bringing joy to every schoolgirl’s dress.”

And who knows if that dress, once carrying the purple hues of summer, will ever return to the place where it once belonged? Time moves on, unceasing, and another May arrives. Up above, the purple Lagerstroemia flowers are quietly blooming again. The warmth of summer continues to bathe the street corners, and the purple color of May remains tender and enduring, as always. This is the moment when I can immerse myself in the sight of these purple flowers, scattered along the familiar path of memories, and feel young again, as I remember the faded blossoms pressed into my school yearbook.

Author: HỒNG MINH