Top 10 Best Short Stories About the Phoenix Flower

The Phoenix flowers are blooming, radiating in the blazing early summer sun. It's a familiar sight, yet still a surprise. The heat of the new season hits hard, and the frantic efforts to deal with an unexpected epidemic make us forget to look up at the trees to admire the blooming flowers.

The Phoenix is always a sensitive, friendly, and humble tree in schoolyards, with its range of emotions—from lively and loud to quiet and contemplative. In the fresh golden light of early autumn, the Phoenix gently sways its branches, offering a warm welcome and sheltering the pure beauty of the new school year. As the world of knowledge, pure and bright, draws us in, the Phoenix silently sends small golden leaves to the ground, not wishing to disturb anyone. When winter comes, it hides its thoughts in the cold and paints delicate ink-like strokes across the gray sky. The light drizzle, combined with the fleeting swallows, signals the appearance of fresh, tender new leaves on the Phoenix branches. In no time, like the speed of sunlight, the trees are lush with green again.

It's hard to tell when the soft, vibrant green turns into a deep, dignified, and persistent dark green. The branches silently reach higher, forming majestic green canopies. The harsh midday sun that beats down on the schoolyard during the early summer is immediately broken up by the Phoenix branches, creating cool, shaded areas. Stepping outside the house and down the corridors, you are greeted by the refreshing shadows in the corners of the schoolyard and along the pathways. Looking up at the canopy, through the bright patches of sunlight, you notice the tight, healthy buds. Some buds have already opened, revealing a deep red hue, while the delicate petals start to show their moon-white patterns...

The Phoenix unexpectedly provides shade with its green canopy, then suddenly bursts into a sea of red flowers. You would think it would take another week or two for the buds to fully bloom, but to your surprise, when you return to school after the weekend, the bright red flowers are already spreading throughout the trees. It feels like the hundreds of green buds spent the night gathering together, ready to take over the sky in a rapid, coordinated effort. Each flower blooms like a tiny flag, and the entire tree is covered in red, like flags waving triumphantly in a national celebration.

Under the noon sun, the tree transforms once again. The canopy blazes with bright red flowers. There's no need for fragrance to lure, as the Phoenix flower's color boldly offers itself. With deep roots in the ground, does the Phoenix pull sap or absorb the heat from the earth? Does the sun turn the flowers red, or have the flowers simply reached their peak, offering their fullest energy? It's hard to explain, but we know that the vibrant red canopy against the gnarled, dark brown trunk brings joy to young hearts. Looking at the red blossoms, at the excited faces, we dream of carefree childhoods, of the innocence and fervor that once filled us.

Walking under the soft shade of the tree, you notice a few fallen petals. These flowers, which bloomed days ago, have already fulfilled their purpose! The Phoenix is not just a tree with a canopy of leaves and flowers, but also a symbol of time passing by, reminding us. The Phoenix is not only a sight to behold, but also a feeling. The Phoenix is not only a loud spectacle but also stirs deep reflection. The Phoenix evokes thoughts about the end of the school year, about the eager aspirations and desires of students preparing for exams. It represents farewells, crossroads, and awakens doubts about what’s possible and impossible. Like a flag fluttering in the wind, the Phoenix marks the start of new journeys in life... Its colors both linger in our hearts and push us forward with encouragement. The Phoenix softens the harsh, stern adults we have become over the years and evokes care and tenderness.

Whether one loves it or not, everyone has experienced the restlessness that the Phoenix flower brings. The Phoenix season is also the exam season. It silently witnesses and fuels us. And so, in the midst of May’s countless hopes, we all share a simple wish: that the Phoenix flowers bloom on time, vibrant as they have always been...

Nguyễn Thanh Truyền

The first heatwave has passed, and we're already bracing ourselves for the next one. It's heartwarming when one morning, my son calls and says, 'Mom, today the sun is blooming beautiful flowers. Mom, I'm not afraid of the sun, just the heat.' Looking outside, the sun shines a bright yellow over the windowsill. Summer has arrived, softly, like this. Everywhere around us, the sky is filled with the vibrant colors of the Phoenix flower. The Phoenix flower is a symbol of summer, a gift from nature for childhood. After busy days filled with work, sometimes we forget the passing of time, not even noticing the day or month. It is then that the Phoenix flower reminds us that summer has come. No one knows exactly when the phrase 'season of the Phoenix flower' started to describe summer, or who coined it. Philosophically speaking, we can't definitively say whether the flower gives birth to the season, or the season births the flower.

The Phoenix flower is a tropical plant native to Madagascar. It was introduced to Vietnam in the late 19th century and is now widely cultivated. In summer, you can spot the Phoenix trees everywhere, their fiery blossoms lighting up the surroundings. Besides being a decorative plant, it also provides shade in tropical climates, enduring dry and salty conditions. The flowers bloom from April to June, sometimes extending into September. Today, Phoenix flowers are grown in Vietnam in various colors like red, yellow, and purple. Among them, the red flowers are the most talked about. The red hue of the Phoenix flower captivates us all. In fact, the fiery color has inspired countless artists, both in poetry and prose. The red of the Phoenix flower has been compared to sapphire, fire, a torch of light, faith, the sun's rays, the spirit of summer, and the essence of summer heat... Some even praise its color as 'pink in a world of its own,' as if it resonates with music and echoes through the vast light of space. A writer from the port city once wrote, 'My Phoenix flower, my May, you are always passionate, intense, radiant, burning with the arrival of summer. Oh, the beloved cicadas who refuse to sleep, singing endlessly, staying awake alongside you so that summer always burns bright in my heart.'

Not only that, but the color of the Phoenix flower also stirs nostalgic feelings in generations of students, often referred to as the 'student flower.' Perhaps it's because its blooming season coincides with the end of the school year, the season of goodbyes for many students. Or maybe it's because the Phoenix tree has been a shelter for students to seek shade from the sun and rain, to play, pick flowers, and chase butterflies through childhood. Under these Phoenix trees are countless memories of joy, sorrow, and humorous moments shared between teachers and students, friends. Each old tree once stood as the place where students gathered to review lessons or form study groups... And when the school bell rang, signaling recess, we would rush out like birds out of the nest, playing under the Phoenix tree. Those were the beautiful, unforgettable days of our childhood.

During the war, the Phoenix trees in my beloved countryside endured countless bombings, injuries, and scars. Yet, when summer came, they still bloomed, their branches and leaves providing shade for many yards. The beauty of the Phoenix flower lies in its resilience over time. Every year, the tree sheds its leaves, remains still, and quietly gathers nutrients throughout winter, only to sprout new shoots, green and vibrant, and ignite once more, brightening the days ahead. Returning to my old school during this time, I can't help but feel nostalgic at the sight of the fiery blossoms of the Phoenix tree. Quietly, beneath the old tree, I wonder if anyone at my beloved school still remembers me? From beneath the tree, the ants lead their young up the Phoenix trunk to suck nectar from the blossoms. The Phoenix flowers, bright at the top of the tree, resemble the towering Everest. The ants move slowly, recalling the lesson taught by the teacher long ago: that humans must climb Everest, not fly straight to the top, simply because they can't. Humans can't ascend too quickly, or they might collapse from the lack of acclimatization to the altitude, pressure, and thin air... That's why many people faint or fall when they are pushed too quickly to higher altitudes.

To this day, the Phoenix flower remains a symbol of youth, poetry, and a legendary flower for generations of students. No matter how modern the schools are, the corners of the playgrounds are always home to the red Phoenix trees. The vibrant red of the Phoenix flower burns like a flame, igniting dreams, hopes, and urging the younger generation to step into life. After all, when you are responsible for your own life, you must grow up. Alongside them, the flower, with its fiery color, keeps burning relentlessly. That flame color embodies the essence of sunlight, and when you see it, you can almost feel your body heat rising, as if you're burning with fever. Some fevers increase body temperature, but others burn the heart. The old song echoes in my mind, 'After the song, you become quiet. The silence is the color of red flowers, after the song, you become like this, you of the red flower time, after the song, so do I...'. The melody brings back memories of youthful days. Today, in the classroom, the shadow of the old teacher is still there, passionately teaching students new lessons. These are lessons about loving our homeland, our country, our school, and the lesson that we must rise after every fall. Because after every fall, we are reminded once again with the wisdom of life...

Nguyễn Thuý Hạnh

After more than thirty years since bidding farewell to my student days, the sight of Phoenix flowers blooming in shades of pink against the lush green canopy stirs a wave of nostalgia. Memories flood back. The Phoenix flower—known as the quintessential ‘school flower’—has always been tied to the bittersweet journey of youth, with schoolbags and textbooks in hand.

When the first few clusters of red Phoenix blossoms began to appear at the ends of branches, we were busy preparing for exams. Then came the final lessons, filled with the incessant chirping of cicadas. Their calls seemed to urge us onward, signaling the arrival of summer.

After the exams, there were delightful afternoons spent cleaning the school before the summer break. We all knew the time left to be together was fleeting, so we cherished every moment. Our yearbooks were passed around, and anonymous poets and artists emerged, creating little poems, drawings, and heartfelt letters. Ah, the mischievous yet lovable spirit of youth!

The girls in my class especially loved to craft butterflies from Phoenix petals. Skillful hands, alternately holding pens and hoes, would carefully separate the petals, fashioning them into delicate wings, and pressing them into notebooks to dry. Once they were ready, they would be given as gifts in our yearbooks. While we loved Phoenix flowers, many didn't know that within each branch, there were always a few special blossoms—the ‘Queen Phoenix.’ These blossoms were larger, with soft white or pale pink petals, adorned with delicate veins of purple. Their color stood out against the surrounding vibrant red flowers, creating a unique and striking beauty. The butterflies crafted from these ‘Queen Phoenix’ petals were even more exquisite. But, if one wasn’t careful or didn’t have a steady hand, it was nearly impossible to attach the wings to the body, as the petals were much thicker than regular ones. Using a sharp knife, we’d carefully trim the base before sticking them together. The result was a graceful butterfly, its wings poised to take flight.

Thirty years later, thanks to connections with old friends, one of them sent me a picture of the yearbook page I had given them. Among the two red butterflies, a white one stood out, with its soft purple veins and a Phoenix branch I had drawn. Our youth is immortalized in those yearbook pages, forever a symbol of friendship. The memories of our teachers, our school, and our old friends flood back as I look at the delicate wings of the Phoenix butterfly, swaying in the breeze with the early morning sunlight. Even the dewdrops from the night before cling to the petals, evoking an indescribable longing in my heart.

Oh, how I miss those days. How I treasure them!

Back then, we had a silly fight over the Phoenix flower butterflies. Ngoc Hau Dau had picked one up to admire it but accidentally tore its wings and broke its antennae. I was upset that the butterfly I worked so hard to create was ruined, and I scolded her. That small incident led to a week-long quarrel, and neither of us knew how to make up. Fortunately, our literature teacher, Ms. Hoa, came to the rescue. 'Could you two make a few butterflies for me? They’re so lovely.' The whole class pointed at Ngoc and me, calling out, 'You two are the most skilled in the class, Ms. Hoa!' And just like that, we reconciled, laughing as we crafted butterflies together again.

After graduation, we went our separate ways. Ngoc moved to the Central Highlands. Years passed, and we lost touch. But when I looked at that old yearbook, my eyes welled up with tears. The reel of our school days played slowly in my mind...

Ngoc, I wish we could turn back time to those carefree days. When the branches of the Phoenix trees burst into bloom, we would study together, attend youth union meetings, and create Phoenix flower butterflies like we used to. Wouldn’t that be wonderful, Ngoc?

Ngô Thị Ngọc Diệp

Not long ago, the flame trees planted in the schoolyard and along the streets were just bare branches, looking lifeless as if all vitality had drained away. I had forgotten about them for a while, only to be amazed at how their branches had spread wide, full of leaves. Amidst the fresh green foliage, there were dark green clusters of buds. Just one night, and the branches began to ignite with vibrant red blossoms. Thousands of buds mixed with countless red flowers, setting the tree ablaze.

While the cotton tree flowers are like tiny sparks, the phoenix flowers blaze with large flames that seem to consume the whole space. Perhaps that's why summer always feels so hot. Could it be that the sun, wind, and rain combined to create that beautiful red color? The phoenix flowers start to adorn schoolyards and streets, making everything look brighter and more vivid. Oh, that deep red hue! Full of longing and giving. It reminds us of the pure and carefree days of our school years.

Every schoolyard is filled with many phoenix trees because they are easy to plant, hardy, and require no pampering. By the time we started school, most of the trees had grown tall, with trunks large enough for two people to hug. Their bark was weathered and gray, like the color of the earth after rain. Occasionally, their roots would rise up like large snakes crawling on the ground, peaceful and familiar. Standing slightly tilted, they endured storms and gales, proudly facing the sky and earth. These phoenix trees have been with generations of students as they sat on the school benches. Countless memories of love and anger fill our hearts, along with many dreams nestled deep inside.

On the hot first days of summer, groups of students would gather under the phoenix tree for shade. Some would read, others would study, and some would chat cheerfully. The tree's wide canopy sheltered them, like a mother's arms protecting her children. Looking up, all you could see was a dense green layer of leaves, refreshing and intoxicating. Only a few rays of sunlight could penetrate the gaps, casting soft, shimmering spots on the ground. The sound of cicadas filled the air, endlessly singing their summer song: 'The bicycle baskets are full of phoenix flowers / Where are you taking my summer away…'

The chirping of birds seemed to bring the tree to life. Every time the wind blew, tiny leaves fluttered down like summer snowflakes, refreshing on hot days and beautiful in the early mornings. The sky was high, and the clouds drifted lazily. Occasionally, there would be a sudden burst of rain, filling the air with the earthy scent of wet soil.

Among the lush green leaves, large clusters of flowers bloomed, astonishingly beautiful. The phoenix flowers didn't grow individually but in large clusters. Their petals were delicate, soft, and velvety like velvet. Majestic and splendid, like a young girl blossoming into womanhood. The stamen, yellow and long, resembled the tail of a peacock or a phoenix. Perhaps that's why they are called 'phoenix trees.' Bees and butterflies always flitted around, diligently collecting nectar from the fragrant flowers, blending the sweet and tangy scents. It seemed to evoke memories and emotions, as if carrying the gentle whispers of nostalgia.

Summer would be incomplete without the red of the phoenix flowers and the song of the cicadas. The summer vacation had arrived. New students and those in the middle of their school years excitedly talked about their plans for the three-month break. As for us, we were about to say goodbye to our school days. Suddenly, I realized I had grown up. A brief moment of confusion, a fleeting sense of longing, and my heart stirred. The last days of school were slipping away. Our eyes met, as if we were about to cry. We had to part from our school, from the phoenix tree in the yard. We were closing the book of our school days, ready to open a new chapter of life.

It seemed like the phoenix trees were also moved. The leaves rustled, as if sharing their wide embrace. The school gate would soon close for three months of summer, three months without the sound of bells or the joyful chatter of students. The tree stood alone in the yard, amidst the scorching heat, the gusts of wind and storms, slowly releasing its petals into the air, as though counting down time.

Some of us, who had just yesterday been carefree and mischievous, suddenly felt more mature overnight. Our steps had slowed, more thoughtful and quiet. A little reflection on ourselves, a little on our friends. We gazed dreamily into the distance, gently holding a phoenix petal, pressing it into a scrapbook to capture the moment that marked the end of our school days and our bond with teachers, friends, and every phoenix tree.

Now, I am no longer young, no longer in a rush to get to class or worried about exams. But the phoenix flowers are still red, and the cicadas still sing without pause. I long to sit under the shade of a phoenix tree again, leaving behind the sighs and worries of daily life. I want to see the innocent footprints of my childhood, untouched by the dust of the world, still etched somewhere on the schoolyard.

I love the season of phoenix flowers. I love those pure school days. I love the rough bark of the phoenix trees, where a couple of my friends carved our names. I love the budding flowers, and I even love the petals that gently fall to the ground after they've fully bloomed. I am forever grateful to the person who brought the phoenix tree to Vietnam. A thousand thanks to the one who first planted the phoenix tree in our schoolyard.

Nguyễn Sỹ Đoàn

May arrives, and as everything seems to melt under the intense, scorching heat, the fiery red of phoenix flowers bursts into view, signaling the arrival of summer. In May, these flowers sing passionate, wistful melodies, evoking memories of youthful days filled with pure and sweet emotions.

It’s unclear when the phoenix tree first appeared in my schoolyard, but for our generation of students, its presence, alongside the bougainvillea, the golden rain tree, and others, seemed inevitable. The tree stood tall, with a rough bark, sturdy branches, and a wide, lush canopy that shaded much of the school yard. At first, in May, only a few timid flowers peeked through the green leaves. The delicate, velvety petals of the phoenix flower were like a young woman dressed in a vibrant red gown, full of life and beauty. The red of the flowers and the green of the leaves intertwined to create a stunning scene, captivating us students. During recess, we would gather under the tree, competing to see who could pick the largest and most beautiful blossom, often showing off our prizes at the end of the school day. In our bags, in our pockets, or tucked in our hair, the newly blooming flowers were cherished treasures. Then, one day, the tree gradually lost its leaves, and the vivid red blossoms took over, filling the air with color. From afar, the tree looked like a giant red fruit platter. I remember those afternoons, when the sun softened, and my friend and I would gather the fallen flowers, string them together as keepsakes to hold on to the fleeting season of blooms.

The phoenix tree was not just a feature of the schoolyard; it could be found near communal halls, health stations, along roadsides, and in fields, standing proudly like a giant umbrella, offering shade and protection from the sun and rain. Amidst the multitude of colors from other flowers like the yellow of the golden rain tree or the purple of the bougainvillea, the vibrant red of the phoenix flower always stood out, symbolizing triumph and pride. Despite the passage of time, the phoenix tree continued to bloom every summer, unyielding and steadfast. Its blossoms ignited a fire in our hearts, representing our dreams and youthful ambitions, urging us to study harder as exams approached.

The phoenix tree caught everyone's attention not only for its brilliant colors but also for the lively symphonies created by the cicadas, whose songs filled the air with excitement and energy. Beneath the cool shade of the tree, we would often hear the laughter of young students, their white shirts fluttering in the wind, blending with the vibrant red of the flowers, making the schoolyard more lively. In such a beautiful setting, even the most composed among us couldn't help but feel a flutter of emotion when exchanging pressed flowers or writing poems of youthful love. And when night fell, after studying under the dim light of a desk lamp, we would reminisce about these moments, feeling the sweetness of our first love again. We would gently say, “Goodbye for now, phoenix tree, until we meet again.” Outside the school gates, a cyclist would slow down, pausing to gaze at the enchanting scene where their own youth had passed by...

Today, I returned to visit my old school. The phoenix flowers still fell silently, covering the walkway with a red carpet, just as they did all those years ago. Seeing the vibrant colors against the summer sun, my heart ached with memories of a time long gone. How many seasons of the phoenix tree had passed, each filled with overflowing memories? I bent down to pick up a fallen flower, and suddenly, a verse by the poet Thanh Tùng came to mind:

“Under the fiery flowers, with longing in their glow,
We walked together along a quiet path,
The cicadas’ songs filled the air, not letting the summer afternoon rest,
And my heart could not be still.”

It's hard to say who first decided to plant the Phoenix tree in front of the school, but each summer, the tree's fiery red blossoms appear like a flame-colored umbrella. The tree feels like an athlete holding a torch, lighting up the summer, igniting emotions that surge in a sprint toward the finish line of the final exams. The Phoenix tree seems to quietly witness the passage of time, gathering, accumulating, and capturing the lively sounds of youthful school days—of chasing games, gym class in bright uniforms... From the tiniest green leaves to the blossoming buds that open up like eager fingers, the flowers bloom exuberantly, defiantly, showing off their beauty while holding onto the memories of meeting and parting as the summer break approaches. The Phoenix flowers bring color to the schoolyard, making it feel less empty when classrooms fall silent. And within us, the echo of the school bell resonates like the heartbeat of time.

When we think of the old Phoenix tree, we also recall the image of the school's drumkeeper—kind and welcoming. He is like a living clock, never missing a beat, never failing to keep the rhythm. The drumhead, made from cowhide, and the wooden body of the drum beat together in perfect harmony, just like the Phoenix tree—a silent witness filled with life. This is the magical clock of nature, signaling the arrival of summer as the Phoenix blooms in vibrant red. Both the sound of the drum and the color of the flowers breathe new life into the school grounds. And when the cold winter comes, we embrace the fallen leaves of the banyan tree, arranged in layers from wide to narrow, low to high, like a tower—crafted by nature’s hand. Both the banyan and the Phoenix trees are often planted together in schoolyards, companions that warm the surroundings with their fiery hues—red and green—symbolizing the passage of time, with students growing up and new generations arriving. It's a cycle that never grows old, always fresh, always united. The flowers remain youthful, the school bell never grows old, only the teachers' hair turns silver, while the lesson plans remain written in green ink on the board that is slowly fading away. The school gates open and close like pages in a book—opening a future full of promise, closing a chapter filled with memories...

When I left, I looked back at the village’s red cotton tree, resembling a flock of fiery birds perched on the branches. In the distance, the old Phoenix tree in the schoolyard seemed to send off a flock of red birds, longing and waiting, with its fiery red color. Oh Phoenix, you continue to live in me, lighting the fire of faith and love for life, from the very beginning, from that unforgettable schoolyard.

NGUYỄN NGỌC PHÚ

They say the phoenix flower is the flower of students...

Do you remember? The season when the phoenix flowers bloomed

When the school uniforms carried the fragrance of youth

And even today, the color of the phoenix flowers

Still carries the sadness of parting, those carefree days...

Childhood is tied to the countryside, and student life is tied to the red phoenix flowers. Every summer brings a wave of longing. I remember how the petals fell endlessly, the wind in the schoolyard carrying them away.

Who can forget the color of the phoenix flower? Who can forget the school days? The phoenix branches hidden in the desk drawers, or the butterfly drawn in the student’s notebook with phoenix flowers. Those innocent days are gone, and so too is the butterfly, gently flapping its wings and flying away.

After school, the white uniforms fluttered in the breeze. Where is the small hand that used to catch the falling phoenix petals? The tree still stands, silently bidding farewell. The phoenix waits, restless, hoping, waiting. Does anyone know?

Students, never forget the red phoenix flowers. Beyond that colorful world of school, full of phoenix blooms every summer, there are many hardships and challenges. The essence of the phoenix will follow our steps, guiding us through thorny paths and hardships, and its color will warm the coldest of hearts. After years of life's struggles, when we return, our hearts will remain loyal, just like the first days of youth!

Oh! When will we ever be able to sit under the shade of the phoenix tree again, recalling those clumsy memories, to realize how beautiful and poetic the phoenix flowers really are? And especially, how the fragrance of the flowers brings peace to the soul, dissolving all the heaviness of life!

Oh, student days! I vow to never forget. No matter where life takes me, or what I do, whenever the phoenix flowers bloom red:

When the phoenix flowers blaze in red,
And the white uniforms glance by, we will remember each other.

Hoa La Tree

As summer arrives! Waking up early, the sunlight pours into the room, and the cicadas sing their summer love song amidst the lush green leaves. Looking out the window, I suddenly catch sight of the vibrant red phoenix flowers blooming, lighting up the street corner. Some say that summer is like the radiant years of youth, and for me, the phoenix flowers symbolize the season of dreams and aspirations.

The phoenix trees are planted along many streets in Hanoi. Although the flowers lack fragrance, if you gently bite into one, you can taste a subtle sourness that lingers on your lips. The bright red petals spread out, with a hint of white and pink near the base. The stamens extend outward, crowned by a dark red pistil, creating a stunning contrast. The fiery flowers against the vast blue sky of summer seem to ignite the flames of youthful dreams.

Interestingly, when you visit schools, you’ll often find a few phoenix trees offering shade on the playground, with the blooming season often coinciding with the end of the school year. As a child, every summer break, we would gather to fly kites, play soccer, catch cicadas, and engage in mischievous games. Even though we knew we would get scolded by our parents, we would still find ways to pluck the phoenix flowers and play with them. The girls would weave flower petals into necklaces or bracelets, pretending to be princesses or brides, while the boys would use the stamens to “fight” each other like roosters—whoever’s stamen fell first lost. Those innocent childhood games have now become distant memories. And surely, everyone has wished for a magical way to return to the carefree days of youth.

The memories of school days are often intertwined with the phoenix flowers. The boy quietly gifts a branch of phoenix flowers to his crush, and the girl presses the petals in her notebook, along with poems full of longing... On the day of the school farewell, someone gets emotional listening to the song “Red Phoenix” played softly on the guitar: “The baskets are full of phoenix flowers/ Where are you taking my summer?/ The bouquet of phoenix you hold is my eighteen/ A secret, first love’s silent.” The pure, first fluttering of emotions is forever stored in the tiny compartment of our memories.

Like a promise, the phoenix blooms to signal exam season, igniting the hopes of youth. I will always remember the final summer of my school days. Our group of friends cycled to the riverbank of the Red River, talking about our plans for the upcoming university entrance exams and our career aspirations. Before leaving, each of us wrote our wishes on a piece of paper, folded it into a little boat, and let it sail on the river. Our paper boats, carrying our dreams, gently floated on the water, drifting away in the setting sun. Later, life separated us in different directions, and some of us lost touch.

Sometimes, I wonder: “How many of us were able to fulfill the dreams of our youth?” Some dreams and ambitions faded as time passed, but others dedicated themselves to their work, and for them, contributing to their aspirations became happiness. Yes, the phoenix flowers still bloom, but youth never returns. So we shouldn’t waste our youthful years on meaningless things.

Every year, as summer comes, the phoenix flowers once again ignite the memories of a time when we wore white school uniforms. I believe that in everyone’s memory, there are treasured recollections of a glorious youth, filled with hopes and dreams. Yes, a season of hopeful flowers is returning to the streets.

Vy Anh

This morning as I walked down the street, I was struck by the vibrant red hues that greeted me. The phoenix trees along the roadside had suddenly burst into a blaze of color. It’s already May! The summer days, with the songs of cicadas and the fiery red of phoenix flowers, have been etched into my memories since my carefree school days, and they still linger as the years pass by. 'Phoenix flowers aren't fragrant, nor are they necessarily beautiful,' but they hold so many memories from our school years, and anyone who has ever passed through that chapter of life will recognize how deeply familiar and cherished the color of the phoenix flowers is.

Nature has gifted us with so many wonders. Each flower, each color, has its own special meaning, brightening the world in its unique way. But the phoenix flower is even more special, not just for its fiery red hue. It blooms at just the right time, coinciding with the season of exams and the impending farewell to school days. It is this very timing that links the flower with our youth, with those shy glances exchanged in class, and with hurriedly pressed blossoms in our yearbooks. Can there be any flower that serves as a witness to so many school memories? When the petals fall, they stir the heart, evoking nostalgia for the past and reflection on youth. Those memories of school life come alive again, vivid and vibrant.

I remember the first school I attended, a modest village school nestled among houses with tiled roofs, iron sheets, and thatched cottages. It stood in a green grove of fruit trees, extending out to the vast, ever-verdant rice fields. Amidst this peaceful setting, the phoenix trees with their sprawling roots gave the school a unique character. At the beginning of each school year, the trees were bare, with only the remnants of last season's fruit left behind. As mischievous children, we would gather these fruits and crack them open to eat the seeds. Truthfully, the taste of the seeds wasn’t what drew us; it was simply a part of our playful nature. As the days grew warmer after Tết, the branches of the phoenix trees began to sprout new leaves. The delicate, symmetrical leaves emerged from the once-bare branches, and we would stand in line each Monday morning during the flag ceremony, in awe of the transformation from dull brown to vibrant green. Soon, the trees bloomed, with scattered flowers peeking through the canopy. The boys would scramble to pick the first blossoms, searching for the prettiest petals to give to the girls as butterflies pressed in our notebooks. Within a few days, the trees would be in full bloom, creating a sea of red across the school yard. We would collect the flowers, press them into our notebooks, and write poems, songs, and messages in our yearbooks.

As the years passed and we grew older, the school expanded, but the phoenix trees remained, now towering over the yard, offering shade and a place for us to sit during break times. When we said our goodbyes to the school at graduation, we sat beneath the canopy of flowers that had covered the yard, wishing each other success in the upcoming exams, with a bittersweet farewell, knowing that life would take us in different directions. Some friends wouldn’t continue their studies, while others would pursue new paths. The high school we went to was newly established, with young phoenix trees that hadn’t yet bloomed. In the years that followed, we planted more trees together, but by the time we graduated, the phoenix trees hadn’t yet flowered, though the eucalyptus trees stood tall, waving their leaves to bid us farewell. When we returned years later, the school had changed its name. The old friends were gone, and the teachers had moved on, but the same old phoenix trees were there, still standing tall, greeting us with their red blooms.

My connection with the phoenix flower continued long after those school days. Every April and May, when the sounds of summer rang out through the songs of cicadas, the phoenix trees would bloom in fiery red. The summer in the Central Highlands was vibrant with the golden hues of yellow blossoms, the deep purple of the purple flowers, and the many colors of orchids, roses, lilies, and chrysanthemums. But perhaps no flower could take the place of the beloved phoenix in the hearts of those who cherish the memories of school life.

After an incident at the school, many of the phoenix trees were cut down for safety reasons. On many streets, the trees were also removed. This summer, many schools and streets are missing the red blossoms. The graduation photos of students no longer feature phoenix flowers. But for those who have passed through the sweet years of school life, the memory of the red phoenix flowers, as vibrant as blood, still burns brightly in their hearts. Just a glance at the color from a distance, and all the emotions and memories come rushing back to life, full of poetry and nostalgia. The phoenix flower has entered the realm of literature, music, and art, leaving a lasting impression on everyone, and it will continue to live on through the years.

There is a season of phoenix flowers in you, in me...

Nguyễn Thị Thúy Ái