Opening To The Boys From Qizhongtao

The last of the winter mists cling to the valley. White clouds dance all around. Dead branches tease promises of resurrection soon to come. Snow lies here and there, relenting to the growing warm of spring. The earth breaths again, damp and spiced, inhaling decay, exhaling renewal. Dewed trees weep a thousand-thousand joyous tears. Their drops become rivulets, trickling down the hill face. A breeze through ever green leaves stirs them to a slow sigh of welcome. The cranes flutter in their nests, a falcon soars, calling to the sky. Goats walk stony paths, sure hoofed and hungry. Above the pearl mountain watches, long pregnant with Winter she now births their child into the world. The cerulean dragon winds and scythes, falls and roars through the valley below. The mother glows with silent pride. This is the symphony of spring in the village of Qizhongtao.

The huts sat sodden, their chimneys peppering the air with wood smoke. Amongst their dripping fascias the children came running. Feet slapping in the muddy paths, their laughter boisterous like the rivulets down the valley side. They ran cheering and yelling, calling to their friends to come out and play. Two cows huddled under an out cropped roof were disturbed as they rushed by. Snorting their displeasure they shook their heads, jangling the bells around their necks before returning to their usual placidity.

Up into the woods the children went, finally the long winter nights were done. Amongst the mossy crags and trees they hurried, hiding and swinging, rolling and howling. Their shoving and pushing well natured, each one testing their strength against friend, cousin, sister, brother. They were all family below the mountain. Ever watchful, Tian Zhenzhu had seen their grandparents and parents come into the world. So to would she watch the children have their own and witness their passing also.