January village

The wind is less cold, the fog is less thick, the afternoon is warm
The buffalo children smoked rats, the smoke smelled fragrant in the fields.
On the deserted dike, a few storks are flying around.
The waves are calm and sleepy all winter.

The old land but now it seems strange
The golden rice granary, plowed and smoothed
Lush green winter crop - rice and melons fill the fields
Still lingering traces of the fragrant rice season here and there.

Mud medicine, your hands sow rice seeds
Just passed the night, the dream of the young rice plants sitting together
Busy blocking the wind and mist, I forgot it was getting dark.
The cool wind in the afternoon made my cheeks sweat.

This January is hard but fun
Father harrows high, mother plants quickly in time for the season
Still the same old village land - the time when our grandparents suffered
Now corn, rice, potatoes, melons... five or four crops a year...

So happy homeland, spring has come
Father finished plowing, mother planted just in time for the season.
The scent of the earth and trees permeates every breath.
January village like fire warms my soul...