The divine things relevant the villages, including the dreams of smock from kitchen chimneys, memory and ants’ roots.
All at a dusk rising from the land which was screened by the dandelions, and rising with the secrets of land,
The excited birds revealed the secrets, and the failed stomachs of the eagles and cinereous vultures disappeared at midnight.
The life-long breathing of the fish was carried away by the cormorants at dawn.
Muddy, lichen, gravel, and deep, sinuous ancient path slowly extensively spread from mother’s abdomen
The morning shine through the forest slowly changed its angle, as if it poured through the thatch house, then sifted out of the door’s cracks to go eastward
The concealed genie in the dream-like ancient town lanes, why did you let me prickled by your sesame-thin needle in a casual way and hurt me from my look to my muscles and bones?
You, roses in breeze, just bloomed on the green meadow in drizzle, receiving the purling sound of village’s limpid water
2, ...Go this way, and turn to a narrow lane, I once was infatuated with the tales of a melancholy flower and making-one-frightened ghost at night
I threw myself in mother’s arms,learning to sing
“bright moon cast its light, please go down for some ground tea with sesame and herbs...”
The prelude drew out, I registered in the water, happy and dejected,
The music notes squeezed from a small and thin silver needle in childhood, with hastily and carelessly drafted manuscript to convey one’s lyrical emotion, to look back nostalgically
The water also overflowed my forehead, and the ants from the higher boughs also made a dyke of my heart’s river be breached.
When I was four years old, I almost died of illness. In the nightmare of my running a fever
I cried out: train, train
A death was a journey. The amber in my heart was drifting on the water of Jinxi River, waiting for the snow to cover the scene
In my childhood, I often listened to the croaks of frogs in the fields. The deity was in in my nearby place.I formed a individual of solitude and void. The strong invisible current flowed to the mountains, canyons and cliffs. I asked the welkin, who was the king dominating the still world?
The mountain people said that the hunter had gone far away. At the mountain stream where the source of the Jiangxi River was, and where the Dongyue King once hunted the beasts, I placed the weird beasts on the ancient vines to play on a swing. To look back on the past events like smoke. The ink of the paintings with incredible hues,its background bright and transparent, I dreamed about the pandas, monkey king, tigers in the south of China stuck out their heads by clasping the boughs at the riverside in spring, being loved by the world and they would be desirous of nothing.
Coming with the birds’ twittering, and going with the rumble of thunder, accompanied with lightning, I went into the woods in spring, the tea aroma wafting. I felt extremely grateful. The trees,thickets and grass kindly concealed the stories on the sly.
These stories without any inclination of alarm and violence, with spinning glistening and shadows, gave me tranquil merriness in serene and late night. With child’s simplicity, the itching for peeping at something tantalized me. Inside the wall the fruit swayed, as if they were hinted by the deity. Even if I was weary, my eyes still glistened with spiritual emission. And I fled from the petals, the tree shadows, the tranquil darkness.
At the back of a little farther village, although the overshadowed taller tree was moved into the body,for the thirsty people, some leftovers, darker-than-night melons,fruits, plates and the sharp of the kitchen knife’s blade were now faintly on or off
Covert was the origin of “Dongyuan Wenqu”(a village name). when the ancestors went over the wall, I enjoyed the cozy happiness. Even if my back was clapped hard, over the still things the moonlight cast rolling shadows. The thrilling night scene was a test of death. There was a hazard lurking. Dear, when you secretly heaved a sign,you should close your two-cherry-like lips
However, I saw with my own eyes that the previous fog went over the threshold and would be dying. No one spoke out that its fate would grow the feathers. In the cup in March, the tiny tea buds floated. In the night the green,drifting trees were implicit bidding farewell.
Take off love, the person in the mirror.
In the monsoon and flood season, there were lonely ditches in the hills. The iron hammer was behind the door. Someone waved cruelty. The full moon seemed to hold a memorial ceremony for you. To kiss with dying was your biggest comfort.
The far away place was near, for the hollow (dent) of the stony meteorite became the hopeless meteorite. The sign of the stony meteorite foretold the birth of Yangshi(an ancient scholar).The gradually moving-on village, the tree shadows, the frosty trace of the wooden bridge seemed to sing on the way and passing by the dead threshold, being moved by your thousand-year-old sad song, the occasionally wafting mist authentically wrapped the ancient secrets.