灰青的屋脊线上，它始终保持着那个亘古不变的姿势——弓背，昂首，张着无牙的嘴。云南的瓦猫，这些由陶土与火焰孕育的精灵，在晨雾与夕照中静默地守护着人间烟火。
On the ash-blue rooftops, the tile-cat holds its timeless stance — back arched, head high, mouth open in silence. Born of clay and flame, it watches over the world in mist and fading light.
风霜在它粗糙的皮毛上刻下年轮，雨水为它镀上青苔的衣裳。它空洞的眼窝盛满星光，大张的嘴里衔着整个滇地的传说。某个起雾的清晨，你会看见它的胡须上挂着露珠，仿佛刚刚从某个古老的梦境中醒来。
Years have roughened its fur, and moss cloaks it in green. Its hollow eyes gather stars, its open mouth whispers Yunnan’s old tales. On misty mornings, dew clings to its whiskers like echoes of a forgotten dream.
匠人指尖的温度还留在它的脊背，窑火的气息渗入它的骨血。它记得每一双抚摸过它的手，记得每一个在屋檐下诞生与逝去的生命。当暮色浸染群山，它的影子在炊烟中渐渐模糊，化作一首无字的守夜诗。
The warmth of hands still lingers on its back; kiln fire breathes through its bones. It remembers every life beneath the eaves. As dusk falls over the hills, it melts into the smoke — a silent poem keeping the night.
责编：鲍泓霓
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