Two winters ago, I took a long, lonely walk through the highlands of a prefecture on the edge of the Tibetan Plateau in north-western China. Vivid memories still linger: the spearmint-fresh air in my lungs, the sky rinsed of clouds, streams braiding through valleys, ice crystals forming at their rims. For hours, I saw no one; just yaks and sheep grazing the slopes. Each hill crest led onto another, in an endless roll of frost-yellowed grassland that was meditative in its monotony.
两年前的冬天，我独自在manbetx3.0 西北部、横亘在青藏高原边缘的一座州的高地上，走了一段漫长而寂寞的路。至今仍记忆犹新：薄荷般清冽的空气灌满肺腑，天空被洗净了云朵，溪流在山谷间交织，冰晶在水边凝结。几个小时里，我一个人也没遇见；只有牦牛和绵羊在山坡上吃草。每翻过一个山脊，前方又是一个，起伏不尽、被寒霜染黄的草地延绵不绝，在单调中自有冥想般的沉静。
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