Twain Rains
Chen Yizhi

the water buffalo settles quietly
clear stream waters flow gently over its legs hooves belly back
just like Taiwan, a huge rock set down in the middle of the sea
rain like buffalo fur streams down
falling on its black-brown soil
its porous skin

it chews away on last winter’s plentiful grain scent
plunging its head underwater in the rain and then joyfully lifting it again
it looks out into the smooth distance, at peace with the world
following the low ridges between fields and the muddy rectangular plots
like a farmer squatting beneath a tree at noon to eat his midday meal
delineating spring plains covered in misty, gray drizzle
from riverbanks of green, tongue-wagging grass

ploughs and harrows are brought out:
acre after acre of farmland kicks up its feet and rolls over
making the eyes of innocent childhood open wide
15 ℃ and a monsoon wind blowing in from the northeast
the ancestors gave clear indication of the beginning of spring
water in irrigation channels surges into the fields, vapor rises from the earth
wooden trowels tenderly embrace the sprouting rice
like mischievous children