Every April stroll, the first raindrops of the season begin to drift, then the showers like washing away the dust from the branches, the trees are happily reaching out to catch the cool drops like wash off the sultry and dazzling sun that March left. That was also the time when the mango trees on my porch came to bear fruit.
Standing in front of the porch, looking up, I can only see a green color. Looking closely, it took a long time to recognize the dark green color of the leaves and the luscious, fresh green color of young mangoes. They are tangled together as if afraid to leave. The mango branch is like a muscular arm that stretches firmly, catching and protecting the mango that begins to grow heavier by day and month. All were drooping in one direction like the girl with her smooth hair spreading her heart somewhere far away ...
That mango tree, if my grandfather did not tell me, I would not know when it was planted, how many times blossomed, bear fruit, spent a lot of work to keep my family now a gift. Valuable memories of his hard and hard days. This mango tree was planted by my grandfather, not by branching mango as now. The mango seed he brought back from the days he was hired, he had to take care of it very hard to get taller, yet it refused to bear fruit. My grandmother saw that, told my grandfather to cut it off, but he couldn't help but believe that one day it would give him a mango as delicious as he had ever eaten. It was fortunate to be saved, it seemed that it would only bear fruit. It was the first fruit tree that my grandfather planted.
My mother told me that the first day she returned to her father, the mango tree on the front porch began to bloom, but that day it was not tall and leaning towards her house like now. It is upright, luxuriant with leaves and covered with tiny, golden flowers. Then the day she started to have me in her womb, she was able to eat delicious mangoes, isn't it that I have been eating since I was still in the womb?
Time gradually passes, the mango tree has passed a few degrees to the spring, it is unknown how old it is, but it seems that it has lost love for the orange trees, tangerines ... around the house, it seems to be forgotten. But my grandfather did not forget it, he still nurtured it regularly. He often sprayed some black aphids on leaves and on fruits for a long time.
Then when I grew up, I saw with my own eyes the days of the mango season until I was six years old, the mango trees ranging from small yellow flowers to young green fruits, and bunches of iridescent golden ripe mangoes being held Bamboo brought down, looks so delicious and attractive, but not sure any type of mango now has. Enjoying a ripe mango, hearing my grandfather talk about this mango tree, I love it and love him more. When I was a child, I was a stubborn girl and messed up just like a boy. Once, I did not remember clearly what made my grandfather angry, he carried a whip and chased me around the house, running tired but the end of the road, I climbed onto the mango tree and waved at him. I can tell, but my grandfather saw that the tree was tall, afraid that I would fall so he begged me to climb down, so he stopped being angry.
Ten years passed, the mango tree grew bigger, taller, bigger, and my brother and I held hands to wrap the whole mango tree trunk. It is ten years older than me, but the leaves are still green, the fruit is big in every season, and it is sweet and rich. Until a sudden storm came, the wind blew, all the trees around the house collapsed, and the mango trees that could not withstand the strong wind fell toward the porch, the leaves falling. one side. The storm was also when the family's life began to lack him because the nature's law of life and death permanently robbed him of his family's daily life.
My grandfather passed away, the mango tree was still standing there, but it seemed as if it had aged from no one to care for it, its bark was rough and dark brown. However, it still stands day and day in the sun, in the wind, in the simple everyday life with my family, but I can feel a little sadness and loneliness in it when listening to the murmur. charge on the leaves in every afternoon off the sun.
