圈圈之地

A strong wind blew from the north, twisting around the trees, flowing through the leaves, and arrived here, in the village at the foot of the mountain.

In my village a legend is carried from parents to children, from generation to generation. It tells of mountain spirits who sit high up on the summit and look down on our village. At whim, these spirits would ride down on the wind, passing between trees and leaves, singing the song of the mountain - strong, protective, yet also admonishing and stern.

I let my gaze wander into the vastness of the horizon, where the mountain towered high above, and listened.