1. Please slow down, though, and let the lightning come first. I felt that in the clouds, the ancestors of the village who were sleeping under the earth, their souls took off, jumped into the clouds and shouted loudly to the village.
2. So, such lightning is the gaze of the ancestors, the collective gaze of the village in the clouds.
3. When lightning passes through my village, the first to illuminate are the livestock that stand silently. These livestock, hard work all their lives, even the ashes have not left a handful.
4. Illuminated by lightning, there are crops that rise and fall like waves in the wind. In the crops under the lightning, there are my villagers who are hunched over. In the land, there is the sweat and blood of our countrymen.
5. Illuminated by lightning, there are also roads like blood vessels, on the mountain beams like grandmothers to build a pergola to gaze at the children and grandchildren to come home on the big stones, the village land is arched thin backs - that is the small earthen tombs of the village ancestors.
6. More stones, like the silent croppers in our village, intertwine with the dirt and tumble, silently stretching in the dirt.
7. Remembering my days in the city, from the wavy silk to the quiet and stable cotton, undulating in the middle, I believe, it must be the figure of the wind.
8. The wind carried the stones from the side of the road in my village slyly layer by layer, and of course I found out, who made me such a sensitive person, and every hair was an antenna swaying in the wind.
9. Every time I return to the village, I feel that the silent stones on the mountain road are quietly aging, which reminds me of the age spots on my mother's face in the city.
10. The stones of my village, now, before you are completely cold and turned into wind and sand, I warm you up in my heart.