在21世纪最初几年的一个冬天,我去秋牧场看我们家的牛群。我们鄂金尼部落的鄂博矗立在巴彦哈拉山梁(今名黑山)的最高峰,我从那座高峰西边的山梁走下去,顺着铁丝围栏之间的通道,从牦牛群云集的石佛崖垴一直往南。长满哈日嘎纳灌木丛的褐色山谷里,一群秃鹫在啄食一个黑色的牦牛尸体。路边一座被积雪压歪了的牧牛人的黑帐篷在风中摇晃。牧牛人的帐篷一般没有牧羊狗,我掀起门帘进去时,空荡荡的帐篷里铁皮羊粪炉子里的火早已熄灭,从帐篷顶伸出的炉筒子在风中晃荡,发出“咣……咣……”的声音,被火烧成青灰色的铁皮炉子像一个陈旧而残缺的骷髅头望着空荡荡的帐篷门口,缝着几片青灰色帆布补丁的牛毛褐子门帘 One winter in the early years of the 21st century, I went to see the herds of our family in the autumn ranch. The Oboh of our Ejinni tribe stands at the highest point of the mountain beam of Bayanhala (now Montenegro). I walked down the ridge of the mountain to the west of the peak. Along the passageway between the wire fences, Always south. A group of vultures pecked at the body of a black yak in the brown valley full of Haji Cana shrubs. On the curbside, a black tent of a cowherner crooked by the snow rocked in the wind. Cowherd’s tents generally do not have a sheepdog, I set off the curtain into the empty tent when the fire in the iron manure stove has long been extinguished, the teeming out of the tent roof bobbin sloshing in the wind, issued a “咣 ...... 咣 ... ... ”sound, burned into a gray-gray tin stove like an old and torn skull looking at the empty tent door, stitched with a few pieces of blue-gray canvas patch of hair follicle curtain