Ploughing ox trumpets in the spring.
In spring and February, love is in the heart, and love is also in the soil.
In spring and February, there is a famine in the land, and famine is also in the hearts of people.
A rooster crows.
Two cow "Moo!" ”
Three dog barks. Woke up to the mountain country.
The smoke curls and brings the fatigue of drunkenness after a few years, the men pick up the ploughshares, the old people change the hoes, and the babies put the cattle up the mountain.
The turbulent ballad sung by my gelding grandfather echoed in the ravines and beams.
It's wildfire season, burning on the hillsides, burning last year's loss to ashes and soaking in the soft, fertile soil. Burning in everyone's heart, light up this year's wishes.
Wishes overflow the heart, let people hear, let people see, and what makes people inexplicably troubled is that spring is growing.
Like grandpa's ballad, like the ploughing cow's horn.
Cuckoo! Cuckoo! "On the high hill the cuckoo is calling, the sparrows are in the branches, and the sparrows are noisily under the eaves.
The wind blew across the mountain beams.
Pick up the hair between the eyebrows, brush the cheeks, soft and soft, and cool and cool, like a woman's baby's hand.
Restless land, restless people.
On the opposite mountain, the red and glamorous send-off procession is lined up on the mountain road, and the gongs and drums are noisy in the spring.
On this mountain, the family gathered around the black table of eight immortals to eat rice and pickles.
Seven or eight babies snorted and ate the three-foot empty pot.
When they went to school, the babies who went to the field went to the vine trellisette in front of the house to pick a small cucumber that had not yet grown, stuffed it into their mouths and ran, causing their mothers to chase after them, laughing and scolding.
Dad carried the ploughshare and led the oxen to the field, the pigs barked in the pen "wow" and "wow", and the chickens also "clucked" at the right time, and the mother laughed and scolded: "Plague animals, wait until you get up!" ”
Half an hour later, the mother wrapped in a flower turban greeted the ploughing cattle one after another, and walked to the spring ploughing head.
The oxen pulled the ploughshares in the ditch, snorting happily, the white air rising, and from time to time they looked down and sniffed the sticky scent of the new soil that had been turned up under their feet.
The six-year-old yellow cow in the ping, with a huge body, and the hooves of the sea bowl are splashed with mud, like a heavy truck running on the ground.
Usually meet head-on on the mountain road, and look like no one is close.
Other people's cattle hide far away in the fork in the road.
The two bulls face each other, and it is the bullring.
They don't matter if it's a hillside or a cliff, "Moo! The sound was like two mountains colliding, the earth shook and the mountains shook, the four hooves kicked wildly, the tendons of the eight thick legs were tense and rattled like a mountain, and the dull collision shook people's eardrums, and even the air was filled with the squeezing of the horns and the smell of squeezing bones.
Weeds and trees trembled and fell in all directions, dust flying.
The helpless people hide far away, and the two bulls of equal strength will fight for about an hour, sometimes longer.
Only when one party escapes will it be over.
Breed cattle, never die, no one can separate them, if they are injured and dead, it is time to die.
The so-called "bullfighting" for people to watch!
Cut! The black bull on the beam is four and a half years old, not as big as the yellow bull, he is a sassy man, he has not been gelding, and his strength is amazing.
The black bull is a fierce rival of the yellow bull, which was cut off by my gelding grandfather a few years ago.
The gelding cow has three points weaker explosiveness, and only relies on its huge size to fight with the black bull.
My family has no one to plow the land, and there are female cows, which are called "Zi Niu" in our family, I don't know which word it is. There are almost every family of cows, and there are people who raise a family of cows, cow fathers, cow mothers and calves.
The kinship of the cattle in the mountains is complicated, this father and that mother, the cattle are confused, and people don't care.
The cow was two years old and could plough the land, and the first time he put on the reins and was enslaved, the cow was extremely panicked and resisted.
Femdom! Both brutal and brutal.
Find a flat place to put the reins on the cow, the cow jumps and jumps, the owner of the cow waving the thumb-thick yellow wattle branch in his hand, according to the buttocks whipping, ** the flail of the cow can not escape and can not escape, jumping and also put the ploughshare deep into the soil, nailing himself in place. When the oxen were quiet, the ploughshare was plucked up by the owner and a deep furrow was plowed.
Resist and whip again, and train again and again until the ox tamely plows a straight line in the furrow. Plant a mark in the heart of the cow: The cow is born to plow.
The nine-year-old cow is considered an old cow, and the old bull and zi ox are obediently ploughing the hillside land. It's just that the age of the oxen to plough the land is the growth period, and it is not glorious to plow the land.
One day, my family's Zi Niu suddenly ran away inexplicably, and he couldn't catch up, turning a blind eye to the green seedlings who went to steal food on the hillside on weekdays, and ran in a hurry, and "Moo!" all the way. Moo! "The ground screams.
Along the way, the adults said, "Your cow is crazy!" ”
Crazy? Why are you crazy? "I'm in a hurry!
This baby! It's not crazy, it's far away! The adults were secretive.
Later, I realized that it was Ziniu in estrus.
The fiery love scene between Zi Niu and the big black bull is no less than two bulls fighting.
In the middle of the night, the sow arched the pen door loudly, and the pig also "went crazy"!
In this spring, the cows roared, the pigs barked, the dogs barked, the chickens crowed...
My grandfather was very busy, steerding, plowing pigs, cutting dogs, and he couldn't even run a rooster.
Gelding, it is estimated that I have cut a mouse, my grandfather's eyes are green, and he looks at the man for a long time.
Old....Old man! See....What are you talking about me? The man's voice was dry.
Oh! What's the matter! Grandpa glanced at the place he shouldn't be looking and left.
Dead old man...."Ploughing is the spring that removes the hearts of livestock, and without other thoughts, they are left docile and fat.
The clouds and mist in the middle of the mountain have not yet dissipated, and the drizzle is falling densely, spring rain! It only wets the clouds of heaven, and the earth of the earth, and wets the hearts of men.
Under the carelessness, he lives as he pleases. It's just fine, like clouds and fog. It is not as dense as the summer rain, and the wild and sudden summer rain is unexpected. The spring rain is also in the heart, just right when it is more and just right when it is less. With a little sweetness, a little sour, a little salty, crispy and numb with the breeze, only wet hair, wet eyelashes, no rain from the eyebrows.
It's just that there is wind, which is just generated in the mountains in the spring, with some naughty winds when they were young, not knowing the direction, not distinguishing the size, not distinguishing up and down, blowing upside down.
The grass seeds were scattered all over the mountains, and only the beans in the pods were scattered at the feet nearby, and the dandelions floated freely in the wind, missing a spring.
A few cypress forests, lying in the spring breeze, under the corners of the clothes swept up by the wind, saw the same intoxicated thorn vines spreading on the trees, dreaming of small pink flowers.
In the distance, the sweet smell of milk from the branches of the young sprouts was sent away, and suddenly it was gone, only the sweet fragrance of the grass buds under the withered grass at the feet.
The trumpet of the ploughing ox resounded melodiously in my spring.
ENDS).