We, Mongols, straddle along with the wind...
In the infinite steppe and freedom...nature, life...
As a child, in the warmth of the yurt
I would hear horses, dogs and the flock...
At night, Grand-Father would tell us all about
his hunts for wolves or some terrible rides in winter…
At the end of the tale, my mother, with a smile,
would scowl at him and invent a more comforting story…
