村头,老藤枯树。田里,一片蛙声。山的那边,初开的太阳把天空映得红红的,像村姑羞红的脸。蜿蜒的小径静静地盘旋着,如同老汉脸上的皱纹,刻划着沧桑。老汉从上衣口袋里拿出一包烟,在撕开的裂口中抽出一根,放到鼻孔下嗅嗅,而后“嗞——”地点燃了。于是,一阵阵的烟从老汉的嘴里,鼻孔里冒出,被风吹散。 Village head, dead cane trees. Field, a frog. The other side of the mountain, the beginning of the sun reflected the sky red, like a village girl blushing face. Meandering trails quietly hovering, as the wrinkles of the face of the old man, depicts the vicissitudes of life. The old man took a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his shirt, pulled one out of the ripped rips, sniffed it under the nostrils, and then “嗞 -” lit. As a result, waves of smoke from the old man’s mouth, nose emerge, was blown away.