Top 10 Best Short Essays on June

June brings a rush of emotions with the red of phoenix flowers and the purple hues of Lagerstroemia. It's the time for exams, a busy period for graduating students. The golden fields of rice await harvest. June also carries the lingering sweetness of many delicious, fragrant fruits.

Every summer, we indulge in sweet, juicy fruits from all corners of the country. Not only do they cool us down during the hot weather, but they also provide a wealth of nutrients for our health.

Summer fruits include plums, mangoes, pineapples, jackfruits, durian, dragon fruit, lychees, soursop, mangosteen, melons, oranges, tangerines, bananas, and avocados. Each region offers its own special fruits, ones that grow best in that particular area. No matter whether you're in the North, Central, or South, you can find these fruits at markets, grocery stores, or even have them delivered to your doorstep.

When we talk about the fruits of the South, we can't leave out durian, soursop, mangosteen, mangoes, and coconuts. In my hometown, a northern mountainous district, the local fruit markets are always brimming with durians and mangosteens, meeting the local demand. Apart from the well-known durians from Ben Tre and Tien Giang, there are also durians from Gia Lai and Lam Dong, whose rich, creamy flavor has won the hearts of many.

June marks the peak of plum season. No matter which fruit stall you visit, you'll see plums—firm, plump, and enticingly red. Plums from the Northwest are famous and can be found in every province. Summer wouldn't be complete without eating plums! They're affordable, delicious, and loved by many, especially women. I enjoy slicing plums into a bowl, adding a bit of salt from Tay Ninh and sugar, and snacking while working on my computer. They are a perfect treat when socializing with friends or colleagues.

Pineapple juice is a popular choice for women in the summer. These golden, fragrant pineapples are irresistible, either eaten fresh or juiced. Pineapples are rich in vitamin C and antioxidants. My daughter, a third-year university student, is always concerned about gaining weight, so she often asks me to buy pineapples as a way to stay healthy and beautiful. Pineapples grow all across the country, but Thanh Hoa is particularly famous for its pineapple cultivation. Right now, pineapples from the districts of Ha Trung, Nhu Xuan, and Nhu Thanh in Thanh Hoa are in season, and they are shipped all over the country. I absolutely love this refreshing, tangy-sweet fruit.

June also brings an abundance of nutritious food from the Central Highlands, such as durian and avocado. Avocados are great for health and skincare. They can be used in smoothies, mashed, or in desserts.

In mid-June, with a wide variety of flavorful, affordable fruits, it's likely that everyone has at least a few favorite fruits in their fridge. Fruits can be enjoyed fresh, juiced, turned into cakes, or used as ingredients in savory dishes. I have a talented colleague who loves creating fruit-flavored cakes. Her durian crepes are especially popular with children during summer.

As the plum season fades, lychees arrive. Who can resist the sweet, juicy lychees of June? This familiar, simple fruit is beloved by all. It’s so sweet and hydrating that you can eat them nonstop. Every region has its own unique lychees, but those from Bac Giang and Thanh Ha (Hai Duong) are particularly famous. When the first lychees of the season ripen, I can’t help but buy them right away to satisfy my craving.

June is filled with the sweetness of sunshine, the warmth of the wind, and the scent of ripe rice. It brings nature's treasures to us. The summer season is painted in rich colors, from the sweetness of fruit to the tropical scents that fill the air. We immerse ourselves in the incredible nutrients of tropical fruits.

The hot weather makes it even more refreshing to open the fridge for a cold glass of pineapple, mango, or watermelon juice. The sweet, fragrant taste of the fruit combined with the chill of the ice revitalizes us, melting away all the day's fatigue.

For many people, enjoying the delicious, sweet fruits from all regions is no longer a luxury. We fondly remember childhood days in June, climbing jackfruit trees, picking corn, gathering firewood, and picking wild fruits. These fruits, simple yet full of meaning, remind us of a time when life was tough, but filled with love and family bonds.

Seasons come and go, but June will always return, bringing with it the sweet, sun-drenched fruits that color our summers.

June is sweet in you, and sweet in me.

Collected

I have witnessed five seasons of flowers in Hanoi. I have immersed myself in the delicate peach blossoms in spring, felt overjoyed to wake up to the sight of white hoa sua petals drifting in the morning breeze, and been moved by the sight of the red blossoms of the cotton tree, so reminiscent of my childhood...

It seems like Hanoi is about to experience its first rain of June. June arrives, bringing with it its own unique mark: the brightest period of summer, the first rain of youth that everyone wants to relive, and the sweltering heat mixed with the incessant sound of cicadas, signaling the bittersweet end of the season...

The sound of cicadas marks the swift arrival of summer, and June is here, but it also leaves too soon, as the stress of exams takes over. June gently pours its golden rays onto the earth, spreading across every street and alley. The winds play among the tree leaves, and the scent of lotus flowers still lingers in the air. Yet, the familiar scenery seems strangely distant. Perhaps everything is colored by the sorrow of farewells, with the cicadas' cries echoing the sadness of students as their final lessons draw to a close.

June still shines brightly, sometimes interrupted by a heavy downpour, but it always follows its natural course. Yet, we, caught in the whirlwind of work and dreams, sometimes forget until a quiet moment when the familiar sounds and scents bring us back to reality: 'Has summer really arrived?'

June brings with it a mixture of memories, both joyful and sorrowful, and a longing for things we've forgotten. Perhaps, even as time passes, we continue to love June in our own way, remembering the bittersweet days of our youth...

To dear June, continue to spread sunshine into our lives, fill the air with fragrance, and bring music and love with each refreshing rain, nurturing the new buds of life...

To those who are about to say goodbye to their student life: youth is full of joy, sorrow, and memories. The last stroke of the exam paper marks the end of student days, but June remains, holding on to the memories of youthful days in school uniforms. Even as life gets busy, some may forget, some may yearn, but deep down, in each of our hearts, the memory of June is precious and unforgettable...

Wishing happiness to all my friends. Farewell, June of Hanoi, June of the beloved heart!

Half a year has passed. What have you not yet done?

By: NGỮ HOA

Some believe summer begins with the persistent hum of cicadas in May. But it's not until June arrives that we truly feel the vastness of the bright summer sky embracing our hearts.

"June
Has drops of rain spilling over as we meet
White rain, white words of love turned cold…
Bubble bursts, the dreams fade into the distant, illusory images,
Leaving confusion… leaving the throbbing of first love" (*)

Some say summer starts in May, with the loud buzzing of cicadas. But it is only when June arrives that we truly feel the vast blue sky of summer embracing us.

June, a time for hearts to soak in the sunshine...

The sun in June is pure and bright, like golden honey squeezed from the sun's rays. It's not like the dry, harsh sun of March, nor the patchy rays of May that mix the fading seasons, nor like the pale winter sun that barely pierces the cold. The June sun knows no deceit, no delays. It's intense, dazzling, and bold. Many hate the scorching heat, but I adore it, I am addicted to its brilliance and how it dominates everything around.

June, a time for hearts to be soaked in the rain...

If the harsh sun of June inspires strength, the sudden downpours cleanse and soothe the heart, cooling down our impulsive, youthful instincts. June's sun blazes across the streets, while dark clouds gather just as quickly, creating a city in constant flux. Don't expect June's rain to be gentle like spring showers or soft like the drizzle of the season's transitions. June's rain is fierce, heavy, and sudden, its rhythm striking and definite. We don't fear it, nor do we avoid it. I want to merge with the rain and feel one with it.

The girl of June, or perhaps someone else, makes my heart soak in sunshine and my soul drenched in rain...

You say you were born on the day when the sun is highest in the sky. But I see that in your eyes, in the smile you give me every morning. Your eyes shine brightly, full of sunlight, and your smile radiates warmth. You are the cherished child of summer, and your fiery presence intoxicates me with your bold, direct gaze and your confident demeanor. You stand proud, as fierce as the summer sun itself. Summer’s sun and rain never linger or hesitate—they pour down abruptly and leave just as swiftly. You, too, are never one for hesitation or indecision. You’d rather be loved or hated intensely than leave a weak impression. Because of this boldness, I choose to love you without end.

I ask you: What color is June?

You smile, your eyes squinting: Red, yellow, white, sky blue.

Red from the sun, the petals of the phoenix flowers, the courage of a fearless heart, the unyielding spirit.

Yellow from the summer sun, from creativity, from dreams, from the heights you yearn to reach.

White from the evening rain, from the purity of the heart.

Sky blue, the color of the endless sky where you spread your wings.

I watch you smile, I listen to you speak, and my heart shifts from sunshine to rain. You are free, independent, ambitious, and unyielding, but there’s no place for me—someone who loves you silently, persistently, but humbly like the brown or gray of the earth. I am the Earth, and you are the Sky. I see you, but you don’t understand me. I choose to stand by you in silence, enduring your brilliance and your storms. You are before me, but I can never touch you…

June
The sun is harsh
And the rain is heavy
The cicadas sing fiercely
Our hearts beat fast
Whether we laugh or cry, you remain vast and green

June has no place for wandering, uncommitted love.

(*): Excerpt from the poem “Leaning on June's Red Words of Love” – Lương Đình Khoa

YẾN GEM

The rain in June doesn’t transform into a violent storm; instead, it becomes the subtle flow of unspoken love, a hidden source of quiet longing. It cloaks the bustling city, serenading us with its vast, crystal-clear ballad of affection.

After countless moments of waiting for the dawn, June quietly returns, wandering through familiar paths and rural lanes. By the time we notice, it has already entwined itself with both the earth and the sky.

What memories does June hold for you?

As I ask this, I find myself surrounded by swirls of golden sunlight, heavy and sticky, trapped in the thick heat of the air. Even within my memories, there’s an intoxicating fragrance of sweetness that rises and fills the senses.

June also carries the authority of nature. When it arrives, it offers us gentle rain that sweeps down the narrow streets. The rain has been hidden in the soft steps of years, waiting only for June to show all the depths of heaven and earth, of itself. The rain doesn’t simply remind us—it makes us fall in love—true love, born from the core of the heart.

The rain drifts away the entire sky, each drop falling with a sharp sound like breaking glass. It strikes the rhythm for a vast, fierce symphony. It counts the steps of time, the heartbeat of space.

June’s rain has a way of making everyone fall under its spell, regardless of who they are. Each person loves the rain in their own way, with their own calling, and their own unique image in their eyes. And they bind the rain to their hearts with threads of love.

The rain of June does not turn into a storm, but into a quiet undercurrent of hidden affection. It locks away the noise of the city, singing a crystal-clear love song to us. The rain is a thread of water that lingers, flowing in the palm of the hand, warming the shoulders. It is the thread of a dream that cradles us to sleep with the scent of love. The rain is a kiss pressed against tender lips. It is the hand that caresses your hair. It is the girl herself, captivating us as we become entranced by her, as we hear love crashing like waves against the shore.

It’s strange, June’s simplicity, its quiet, and its reserved nature, so that when the rain spills out from within it, one might think it too would be plain. Yet, every time the rain comes, it brings a pristine form, with threads of water that bind the heart like threads of love. It leaves us even more enchanted with a dreamy love.

June’s rain also brings with it the memories of youthful innocence. It floods our hearts with nostalgia from the days of blooming youth. As the afternoon fades, we feel as if memories have fallen softly upon our shoulders. In each drop of rain, we hear whispered confessions of early love, the secret promises of youth. And in those drops, we feel ourselves leaning against someone on a thin bicycle, our hearts pounding with the excitement of youth.

June’s rain, cold outside, feels like a fire within, bittersweet upon the lips. For June’s rain knows how to soften the heart. Sometimes, it comes at night, gentle and light, like telling a soft story. The story of mothers with children far from home. Sometimes, it falls steadily, as if to soothe. Under the soft yellow light, we mistake it for a mother’s lullaby, gentle and sweet like the warmth of her love. It makes us wish to fall into the embrace of the rain, just as we would fall into the arms of a mother. At other times, the rain carries the fragrance of the countryside, wrapping us in its nurturing essence, like the cherished gifts from mothers in rural areas for their children in the city.

Sometimes, June’s rain is like a mischievous child crying out, frustrating the grown-ups. It comes unexpectedly, without warning, but with an intensity that shakes us. And like magic, while it sweeps us up in a rush, it also washes away the noise and chaos of the city. June’s rain truly behaves like a child—it’s easy to love, so effortlessly.

The rain enters the realm of art, too. It seems that the rain carries the heart’s thoughts, descending upon the world and into the sacred mind of the artist, sighing and speaking through melodies and verses. The rain and the artist resonate with one another, sharing an unspoken harmony from deep within their souls. It causes the artist to fall in love, to sway with the rain as one would with a cherished lover, a soulmate. The rain falls incessantly through poems, seduces with its beauty, and charms the soul through notes that lift us to new heights.

June’s rain knows how to make us love in many ways, but we don’t understand how it makes us love it back. Sometimes, I want to complain: "June’s rain doesn’t do much, except make us fall hopelessly in love—endlessly and deeply!"

Author: Đặng Văn Hường

In June, loneliness sweeps through the streets, with flocks of birds migrating in a long, dreamy slumber. June's guitar strings hum, falling from a distant attic, their mournful melody rolling down the streets. June gleams with the color of green leaves, June in Hanoi, with you and the rain.

Every time I return to Hanoi, I wander through memories of June's rains, the showers that carry nostalgia, those rains that you once set the stage for my schoolboy longings, on narrow streets where ripe sấu fruits fell into the late-night silence.

Down Phan Đình Phùng street, once familiar, the schoolchildren remain unaware of the silent parting on the horizon, with red shades casting over the scene. The street remains, the old sấu trees stand tall, the rains still linger, awaiting the endless days.

The rain comes across the streets, across the hands, across the trees, waiting for the clouds. The rain pours, heavy and scattered, whispering its secrets, the street remains, and so do I. But what of you, are you still here?

The street still has you, the evening lights flicker, streets like Phan Đình Phùng, Mai Xuân Thưởng, Hàng Cót, Hoàng Diệu, Đặng Dung all pull me back to Hàng Bún. The streets color with memories, the rain dampens the roads, where the white shirted figure passed by, where the silent rain falls, where the sấu fruits drop late at night?

The sấu falls in the late night, the rain falls in the late night, memories fall in the late night, sorrow falls in the late night, I fall in the late night, but what of you?

You still linger in the late night, the rain buries June, you still remain, as sparrows seek shelter, you still remain as the old street lies silent, you still remain, and I wait for you?

June's rains are like a love song, from you, from me, from all of us, from every corner of the city, from every whispered thought, from every shoulder in the street, from every longing heart, from every sigh of Hanoi, deep in reflection.

If May is loud and full of life, June in Hanoi feels fragile, moist, and wrapped in endless nostalgia.

There are afternoons in Khâm Thiên, where the streets bloom under the rain, washed clean, the city transforms into a blur, a floating dream. Through Nguyễn Lương Bằng, Tôn Đức Thắng, I pass by the familiar intersections, walking in the rain, caught in the embrace of June. The city whispers through the rain, and I find myself lost in the lake of Phùng Khoang.

Phùng Khoang is an ancient village of Hanoi, known for its small pond in front of the Phùng Khoang pagoda, located at the entrance of the village. The pagoda, a significant architectural structure, holds cultural and spiritual importance, blending various architectural elements, including the main gate, bell tower, the Three Jewels Hall, and the Ancestor and Mother Temples.

Amid the city’s rains, as the droplets descend upon the dusty roads, the small lotus flowers along the pond rise to greet the rain, lost in their own thoughts, their delicate blooms remembering someone, somewhere.

When one speaks of lotuses in Hanoi, the West Lake lotus or the lotus pond in Xuân Đỉnh come to mind, known for their expansive beauty and unmatched fragrance. But as June comes, as Hanoi comes alive with its fragrance, I find myself drawn to the delicate lotus blossoms, with purple water lilies blooming amidst the waters of the humble Phùng Khoang pond.

Life is strange, sometimes all it takes is a glance, a simple touch, and the rain, even if it only passes by once, is enough to stir the soul, to leave ripples on the heart. You return to the streets this afternoon, June rain, June intoxication, June without promises. Hanoi, with its rain... flying... flying...

Hanoi's rain, yes, rain for a moment, to make the afternoon darker, rain to restore a memory of a pink lotus, rain lingering, bringing the city into its own stories. Rain, will you fall again? The dragonflies lose their way in the streets, Hanoi shines like your green dress...

The rains within me never cease, they flow through the city, weaving its silence, its reflections, as June soaks Hanoi. Memories awaken in the rain, whispers of the pink lotus, eyes filled with forgotten moments, like a long street filled with solitude, waiting for the rain to return.

Hanoi, this is how it is, Hanoi, this is how it is for me, for you, for the rain, for the lotus, for the fresh green shade of sấu trees in June. June is not for hurried emotions, June is not for shallow longings. And Hanoi is not for a June just for me or just for you. June, Hanoi, and the rains are for everyone.

This afternoon, unlike the days of old, the rain returns to the coastal city, and I remember June in Hanoi. Somewhere, the lotuses bloom in memory, somewhere, the streets fall with sấu fruits, and I mistake it for youth. I hum a rainy tune by Đỗ Trung Quân:

"If the sky had not rained
I would not have gone down the street
Whose house has yellow chrysanthemums
releasing their scent
In remembrance

your yellow dress...
June...
The sky is sad...
The sparrows fly away
Just like you...
Just like you..."

Hồ Huy

The season of Lagerstroemia comes softly, amid the clutter of memories. I gently catch a drop of dawn flowing through my fingers, feeling the calmness of the moment as a sweet sunbeam rests on the camellia petals. Walking through the unpredictable June weather, I taste the bittersweet nostalgia of past dreams, suddenly reminded of old joys and longings. May had left its worries at the corner of my eyes, and I haven’t treated myself to a moment of peace in a long time, to quietly close my eyes and bask in the pure warmth of the countryside breeze. It’s been a while since I hummed a lullaby to the clear blue sky, or dreamed while sitting cross-legged by the balcony, waiting for the moon and counting the stars.

One morning, I woke up to find a strand of hair on my pillow, and realized with a pang that youth is quietly slipping away. My hands now bear the marks of age, and the distant call of a vendor, still soaked with morning dew, echoes in the silent air, filling me with a deep sense of loss. Time marches on, unhurried but steady, and seasons pass through the blue curtains of my window. The birds that once filled my soul with joy no longer greet me every morning. The mirror in the corner of the room, once clear and bright, now gathers dust, no longer reflecting a smiling face or the bright eyes of a twenty-year-old girl who once hid a rose in her drawer, still smelling of sunshine. Instead, I see the weary face of someone caught up in the mundane routines of life, day after day, following the same predictable patterns.

We begin to feel a sense of loss for the things we’ve let slip through our fingers, while riding on a train that has no return ticket. The only option left is a train of dreams, where we are free to choose the stops and return to the past, guided by memories. The present fades behind the daily struggles and petty jealousies, which soon vanish into the wind. That’s why many people prefer to escape into nostalgia, looking back at the past from the other side of time, to the peaceful skies where dreams once bloomed. The memories we have left are untainted by time, warming us with feelings that can’t be put into words, now part of our very being. June marks the halfway point of the year, and as I look back at the path I’ve chosen, filled with gains and losses, I find my heart weighed down with silent worries…

As I begin to grasp the hidden meaning behind the word 'regret,' outside, there’s a dreamy June still waiting for me, wrapped in the soft purple hue of Lagerstroemia – a flower with a secret beauty, just like eyes that hold a distant sadness. It seems my heart has grown in tune with the sorrow of the flowers, to the point where I consider them a kindred spirit, waiting by the dark purple sunsets. The flowers listen quietly as I whisper about my unspoken dreams, how I’ve spent so much time running after the rush of life that I forgot youth is as fragile as the smoke from an evening fire. The flowers weep in silence, filling the corners of my soul with a deep, melancholy purple, calling back memories with each rainstorm. Lagerstroemia doesn’t offer a sweet fragrance, just a deep purple that quietly fills the vast, sensitive heart, faintly purple, gentle, and heartbreaking...

Beauty is often paired with sorrow, for sorrow too has its own delicate charm. I’ve chosen to face my sadness, to savor its taste in my own way, to understand the full meaning of happiness. I embrace the purple of Lagerstroemia as a reunion of quiet, unspoken sorrows. The flowers soothe the losses within me with their pure simplicity, holding my secrets until their delicate petals fade and fall. Beneath the shade of Lagerstroemia that summer, who was with me, sharing the pure dreams of youth, letting them fly into the bright skies of adolescence? Who sat with me, writing our farewells in the yearbook, knowing the pain of separation? Reading those pages again, with ink smudged by tears, some might feel embarrassed by the unpolished words, but trust that they are the essence of a true and innocent love, the kind of love that time cannot preserve.

Picking the petals of Lagerstroemia, I hide them within my memories, even though the dreams of youth have slipped into the past and childhood rains have turned into distant days, I choose to calmly accept the twists and turns of life. Every evening after work, I will let my heart wander, watching the delicate petals of Lagerstroemia swirl in the wind, feeling the subtle sadness that carries its fragrance...

TRẦN THANH THOA

Summer slowly drifts by, bidding farewell to May as we embrace the arrival of June. The schoolyard is awash in the vibrant red of flamboyant flowers, evoking a sense of bittersweet nostalgia. Only a handful of graduating students remain, engrossed in preparations for the life-defining exams.

I have passed through countless Junes, each one carrying memories of school life and the flowers that filled them. These memories take me back to a time of dreams, where yearbooks and purple ink were filled with the cherished words of friends. The ‘flamboyant petals fluttering’ transformed into tiny butterflies, fluttering across blank pages. I remember those carefree days of youth, rushing to school, chattering like birds, without a care in the world, untouched by the daily grind. Gone are the familiar glances, the voices of teachers, the well-worn seats, and the secret places known only to mischievous students.

Through the Junes of my childhood, barefoot and with dirt-streaked blonde hair, I lived a pure and innocent life with my village friends. We spent days flying kites, herding buffalo, swimming in rivers, and picking berries in the woods. Countless memories that, no matter how far I travel, remain unforgettable. Now, living alone in the bustling city, I often dream of my childhood home, with its warmth and familiarity.

I have passed through so many Junes that nostalgia grows stronger with each one. Soon, I will truly have to grow up, face challenges head-on. The Junes of the past will be tucked away in my memories. Thank you, dear Junes, for the friends and childhood memories. These will undoubtedly become the treasures that guide me through life.

Cao Văn

"A summer rain ushers me into June,

The days flow by, accompanied by the sound of cicadas,

The restless summer knocks at the door,

Do you remember, my love, so many memories..."

Every month of the year carries its own significance, filled with memories that hold special meanings for each of us. As for me, I can't pinpoint when I began to love June, but I do know that whenever the tune of "June, The Season of Exams" by musician Nguyễn Văn Hiên plays, memories of exams, distant dreams, and those youthful loves in the summer rain of school days rush back.

According to the natural rhythm, summer begins in early May, when the first clusters of phoenix flowers start to bloom, and the cicadas begin to sing, leaving us eagerly anticipating the farewell. But it's only in June, when the phoenix flowers burn red, and the sky turns purple with the blooming of the purple flower trees, that we truly embrace the essence of summer. June marks the end of a school year but also the beginning of countless hopes and dreams that no other season can offer.

For students, there are many times to remember, but the most heartfelt memories are often reserved for summer, for June. June brings exams—the season when students burn the midnight oil, tirelessly diving into their books. No matter how tough it gets, they push through to fulfill their dreams and aspirations for the future. June is a time for facing important exams, a time that connects all that we hope for, helping students embark on their journey into life. In the midst of countless hopes and dreams, I realize that deep within my heart are the desires, ambitions, and the pure love of youth. Many years have passed, but whenever June arrives, with its rain and exams, I can't help but feel nostalgic for school, for the classroom, for my friends...

It's hard to forget those memories when the emotions of summer and exam season remain so vivid. Every time I see the delicate purple flowers and the red phoenix blossoms lining the streets and schoolyards, my heart is filled with a sense of longing, as if I were mourning something distant. The memories of school days, of white uniforms, of moments spent with teachers and friends, flood my mind. I remember the boys of my youth, picking phoenix flowers and purple blossoms, placing them innocently in someone's desk. Sweat dripping from young faces, tired from study, yet cherishing memories that etched an indelible mark on our dreamy hearts. I remember the yearbooks, with pressed phoenix flowers, filled with every emotion: love, hate, and anger... Almost twenty years later, my yearbook pages have faded, but the early uncertainties of youth about the future have not. Occasionally, I open it up and smile at the innocent foolishness of eighteen.

Summer arrives, and the June sun casts its glow on the streets, on the winding paths, on the rows of deep purple flowers. The June sun is not as harsh as the March sun, nor as fleeting as the May sun, a mixture of two seasons. It's not like the weak winter sun that struggles to break through the cold air. Many people may not like June, nor the summer heat, because of the intense sun that burns the skin. But few know that this harshness inspires strength and resilience in us.

The June rain is special too. Unlike the gentle, persistent rains of spring or the swift showers of the rainy season, June's rain is sudden, like a glass of cool water quickly quenching the heat, cleansing and soothing the heart, cooling our rash impulses. While the June sun scorches, the June rain also comes in with force, wild and passionate. June passes with the buzzing of cicadas and gradually ends with refreshing rains. The rain seeps deep into the earth, helping trees sprout new green leaves, full of life and love... I spread my hands to catch the June rain, letting it soak my soul, leaving behind memories, affection...

June is also the time when the fields in the countryside are bathed in a golden hue, signaling the coming of the harvest. It's a soft, gentle color that contrasts with the intensity of summer. The harvest season is also when we, the students, get a break. Every day, we would run across the vast fields of ripening rice. Whenever we came across a house harvesting rice, we'd rush over to catch grasshoppers, hoping to collect as many fat ones as possible. Then we'd gather dry straw to build a small fire and roast them, competing for the best catch. If we had enough, we'd bring some home for our mothers to cook the delicious fried grasshoppers with lime leaves.

During the harvest, straw is everywhere. I love the smell of freshly dried straw. Every evening, I would lie on a pile of straw, breathing in the sweet scent of the countryside, a fragrance that's not overpowering but light and subtle, slowly becoming a part of me. Even now, in the depths of my pure memories, that scent remains. On those summer nights, we'd spread a mat on the ground, sitting together under the clear moonlight, watching the moon. The moon was bright and the breeze cool, illuminating every face, casting a shadow of Uncle Cuội sitting under the banyan tree. We would take turns trying to spot the constellation of the Heavenly Farmer, the Milky Way... and share stories about the moon and stars. These stories, repeated countless times, never got old.

My childhood is tied to these summers, filled with countless memories. There was a time when I eagerly awaited the fiery red of the phoenix flowers, standing proud under the scorching sun. I longed for the mornings when I didn't have to wake up early, when there were no worries about exams. Life has swept me forward, and now, although only in memories, these moments are like a gentle stream, flowing forever in my heart… so that each time I feel nostalgic, I can bathe in the warmth of childhood and see life still full of stillness and beauty.

MAI DIỄN
Source: VHNT Magazine, Issue 501, June 2022

As the morning light breaks, I step outside to find the sun casting golden rays across the red brick courtyard. The sunshine is warmer than ever before. Inside, my grandmother is busy with a kettle of herbal tea, chewing betel, and murmuring, "It's June already; no wonder it's so hot today."

My grandchild, who has returned to the countryside after a long time, is startled by the changing world around, and with it, a surge of nostalgia for the old days. June brings back so many emotions – joy and sadness intertwining. The memory of June is so gentle, tied to the old house we once loved. The carefree days of childhood, where the arrival of June meant endless happiness, as school was out for nearly three months. Life back then was simple, though poor, and none of us felt deprived. In fact, comparing it to today, it felt more than enough. I recall the afternoons when we couldn’t nap, and together with my childhood friends, we'd roam the gardens, catching crickets and cicadas. We’d climb the mango and longan trees, our eyes sparkling with excitement, creating memories that still feel so familiar and cherished. After tiring of play, we’d pick fruit to eat, no need to wash or season, just plucking and eating, joyfully forgetting everything else.

June holds memories of scorching summer days, with the gentle river flowing, carrying fresh mud and cool waters. A corner of the village river where children dive and splash all afternoon, their skin tanned by the sun, hair lightened by its rays, but still unable to stop the energy of youth. It’s strange that back then, we didn’t need swimming lessons; we simply jumped into the river, learned to swim on our own, and even invented new swimming styles, showing off to each other. The village river, so refreshing, embraced the childhood of local children in the scorching summer sun. Far off, the purple water lilies drifted, carried by the current. June was also the time spent sitting by the porch, carefully cutting and gluing paper to create handmade kites. Our childhood was poor, so instead of buying toys like kids today, we had to get creative and make our own fun. The kite of June symbolized the dreams of our youth. June brings a sense of longing for our parents, and for the hard-working farmers.

June is also the harvest season, with the hot sun beating down on us, and sweat soaking through thin backs. Yet, the figures of our parents laboring in the fields were never absent. Only as we grow older do we realize how much effort it took to put that fragrant bowl of rice on the table, and how many months of hard work went into making it.

These memories shape us as we grow. And each time June comes around, it reminds us that only by being far away can we truly understand the beauty of longing, of cherishing every moment that once felt so familiar. In this place, there is a beautiful, gentle kind of longing that will stay with us forever...

A Prose Piece by TĂNG HOÀNG PHI

My June is a stretch of days filled with relentless heat. The sun in June isn't gentle as expected; it's harsh, glaring, burning, and oppressive. It's as though only by blazing fiercely can it conceal the weakness, vulnerability, and wounds hidden within. People succumb to the heat, dizzy and overwhelmed, yet they're reluctant to face it, even though deep down they understand how pure and innocent that golden light once was, how warm, embracing, and constant it had been! Then, people gather to escape the sun, leaving the loneliness of its scorching rays to fill the city. To fill that emptiness, the sun flares up again, more urgent and intense than before...

The gift of June is the torrential downpours, where thunder roars and lightning cuts across the sky, bringing a refreshing coolness that soothes and satisfies the yearning of the heart. The rain doesn't just fall; it rushes in, overwhelming, in an instant washing away the heat and suffocation. Under the downpour, every worry seems to dissolve, every anxious thought and painful uncertainty fades into the vastness of the sky and earth.

“In June, the sky rains, the rain never ends.

Even if the sky doesn't rain, I pray for it to.
I pray for the rain to close the road home
And for the night to last forever... ”

The familiar melody and lyrics of the song “Rain in June” echo again, lingering in the soul of those who belong to June. Perhaps the heavens are kind to those born in June, sending rain as a gift—a rain that never ends, just like their endless desires and the deep connection felt within the heart. Every year, June's rain returns like a sacred promise, a miraculous reunion, beautiful and sacred. It makes the heart of the June person want to cherish and keep it close, just for themselves.

The sun and rain of June pass by, leaving behind the ups and downs in the life of a person. Thank you, June, for coming, for passing through, and for leaving behind a melody of yearning to be offered completely. Time will always be a flowing river, sweeping us into various experiences full of emotions. So many things have come and gone, but they make us silently grateful and treasure what remains!

Passing through June, we understand that growing older isn’t enough; we must continue to grow...

Thao Phuong Nguyen Thi