冬日的山村,总有说不尽的萧索和荒凉。收割后的稻秆化成了飞灰,殆尽最后一抹温热后洒向广阔荒凉;稻茬也已枯败,踩上去刺啦作响。阡陌纵横却无鸡犬同往。逆着冰冷的寒风独自越过一条条田埂,跨上一个个地头;上到梯田中央极目远眺,数度沧桑,一片苍茫。恰若幼发拉底河舞着潺潺雪水给大地带来一季又一季的希望,却被漠漠黄沙镌刻上道道沧桑……没有语言,道道伤痕便是过往…… Winter mountain village, there are always endless desolation and desolation. Harvested rice stalks into fly ash, exhausted after the last touch of warm sprinkle to the vast desolate; rice stubble has also been dry defeat, stepped on stab sound. Crossroads but no longer with the dog. Against the cold wind alone across a barbed of fields, across one by one on the ground; on the terraced central visionary, several vicissitudes, a vast. Just as the Euphrates danced snow-fed snow to bring the hope of the season to the earth, it was engraved on the vicissitudes of yellow sand vicissitudes ... no language, road scars are the past ......