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Wrapped in Dust and Smoke for the Rest of My Life
Short Fiction尘烟裹余生
Mingyuefengting
In my life, I always seem to be dealing with dust... When the ground is plowed at the beginning of spring, the dirt and debris are splashed on the trouser legs, mixed with sweat and formed a crust. After the summer harvest, the wheat bran is wrapped in ashes and swirling in the wind. Even if you squint, you have to keep your eyes open to see the golden wheat grains falling into the cloth bag. In winter, the sparks from the stove jump out and fall on the apron, burning small holes. The smell of smoke penetrates into the cotton-padded jacket and cannot be washed away. They say I live a rough life, but isn't that what life is like...? Like the 30-year-old iron pot on the stove, the bottom is blackened by the heat and the edges are chipped, but the porridge is still steaming hot. People in the village came and went, and the adobe houses collapsed and were rebuilt. I squatted on the threshold and smoked dry cigarettes, watching the smoke rings mixed with the stove smoke floating upwards, floating into the sky and then dissipating. Someone asked me, what do you want to do in this life? Hmm... I pointed to the corn drying in the yard, the kernels were so plump and shiny, and then pointed to the old dog napping under the wall. What are you picturing? Don't put out the fire in the stove, don't let the porridge in the pot get cold. When you open your eyes the next day, you can still step on the soil in the yard and smell the smoke from the neighbor's chimney. The leaves of the old locust tree outside the courtyard wall have fallen and grown longer... I count the circles drawn by the annual rings on the bark of the tree. The more circles I draw, the more circles I draw, but my waist becomes more and more bent... The grave on the west head has been replaced with new soil, and the monument just erected last year is covered with moss this year. When the wind blows, the grass on the grave swishes, yellowing and kissing, kissing and yellowing again... It is more stubborn than human life! ________ What is the rest of my life wrapped in dust and smoke... It's the day itself...
In my life, I always seem to be dealing with dust... When the ground is plowed at the beginning of spring, the dirt and debris are splashed on the trouser legs, mixed with sweat and formed a crust. After the summer harvest, the wheat bran is wrapped in ashes and swirling in the wind. Even if you squint, you have to keep your eyes open to see the golden wheat grains falling into the cloth bag. In winter, the sparks from the stove jump out and fall on the apron, burning small holes. The smell of smoke penetrates into the cotton-padded jacket and cannot be washed away. They say I live a rough life, but isn't that what life is like...? Like the 30-year-old iron pot on the stove, the bottom is blackened by the heat and the edges are chipped, but the porridge is still steaming hot. People in the village came and went, and the adobe houses collapsed and were rebuilt. I squatted on the threshold and smoked dry cigarettes, watching the smoke rings mixed with the stove smoke floating upwards, floating into the sky and then dissipating. Someone asked me, what do you want to do in this life? Hmm... I pointed to the corn drying in the yard, the kernels were so plump and shiny, and then pointed to the old dog napping under the wall. What are you picturing? Don't put out the fire in the stove, don't let the porridge in the pot get cold. When you open your eyes the next day, you can still step on the soil in the yard and smell the smoke from the neighbor's chimney. The leaves of the old locust tree outside the courtyard wall have fallen and grown longer... I count the circles drawn by the annual rings on the bark of the tree. The more circles I draw, the more circles I draw, but my waist becomes more and more bent... The grave on the west head has been replaced with new soil, and the monument just erected last year is covered with moss this year. When the wind blows, the grass on the grave swishes, yellowing and kissing, kissing and yellowing again... It is more stubborn than human life! ________ What is the rest of my life wrapped in dust and smoke... It's the day itself...