This morning's rain carried a touch of autumn, the wind turning refreshingly cool, occasionally bringing a chill. Putting aside the late-summer heatwave, we have finally welcomed the season of autumn with its crisp coolness, which is quite pleasant. The autumn in Beijing is worth looking forward to. Since the beginning of autumn, the roses in the fence in the middle of the road have slowly begun to bloom again, revealing their stamens. It turns out that they are blooming for the second time, but not as lush and bright as the first time. The flowers are smaller and scattered, seemingly malnourished. Perhaps it’s the initial blooming, sparse and thin, appearing delicate in the atmosphere of autumn.
After the rain, the sky is exceptionally clear, the air fresh, and one can smell the scent of water. The painted pleasure boats moving forward on the river seem somewhat urgent, stirring up waves of water. The weeping willows by the shore appear dim and hazy. On the grassland opposite, there are clusters of crape myrtles here and there, in white, pink, and purple, standing together and dotting the green landscape.
I always yearn for the autumn in Beijing. Countless texts describe the simple yet splendid autumn colors of the ancient capital: Yuanmingyuan, the Summer Palace, the Botanical Garden, Xiangshan, the Forbidden City, the Great Wall, and various places in the suburbs. Autumn is the season of vibrant colors, carrying the calmness, reflection, solemnity, and prosperity after sedimentation. It's like life at mid-age, becoming increasingly rich, tolerant, peaceful, and indifferent, yet profound in its inner meaning.
Looking down at the Forbidden City from Jingshan Hill, the central axis of the Imperial City under the autumn sunset is indeed magnificent and steady, inspiring respect. It carries centuries of history, deeply concealing the sorrow of the deep palace. History is like rolling river water, surging away, leaving tranquility behind, yet equally profound, vast, and extensive. Looking at the slanting sun from the city tower, one cannot help but marvel at the power of the passage of time. Unable to look back at the past, what remains is already astonishing. What kind of past could it have been? The ancient trees preserved in the back garden of the Forbidden City need iron frames to support them, yet they remain strong and powerful, reaching straight into the sky. They exude the boldness of venturing far and wide, as well as the grandeur of owning the world, making them perfectly suited to this place.
Wherever there are large areas of ginkgo trees, there is always an aura of majesty, marking the location of palaces. In contrast, where red leaves flutter, there is a sense of seclusion, indicating private gardens located far from the main halls, in quiet, scenic places with mountains and water. Three years ago, I missed the red leaves and only saw patches of yellow leaves in the air. Imagine when the red leaves are ablaze, there must be many people. Therefore, I chose to look up from the foot of the mountain out of season. Leaning against the river, through the yellow leaves, I looked far into the distant mountains. There is a feeling of being far from the city, without towering skyscrapers, full of peace and magnanimity, allowing a distant view of the mountains, with the sky vast and the land naturally secluded. The sky is clear and light, the breeze gentle, and the rustling of branches and leaves creates a rare happiness while sitting on the lawn listening to the sound of flowing water.
This city suits autumn well. The grace and dignity highlighted by autumn, along with its solemnity, antiquity, and stability, the falling ginkgo leaves, the rivers running through, and the occasional glimpse of palace ruins carry a certain steadiness akin to someone in mid-life. Although seemingly plain, they require careful appreciation to reveal profound depth. Not captivating at first sight, they grow more meaningful with each passing day.
Unlike cities in Jiangnan. Jiangnan water towns suit spring, with a boat gently swaying in the misty rain, cruising on the lake, viewing the fresh greenery all around, reminiscent of a gentle woman's glance and smile. It inspires thoughts of the predestined connection at the San Sheng Stone, the legend of the Matchmaker under the moon. There is the small Su Causeway, and the Broken Bridge associated with Xu Xian. This is the poetic sentimentality of maidenhood shrouded in mist. In contrast, the north has its own masculine generosity and frankness. No one can stop its steps as it proudly moves forward through the sandstorms, with a certain momentum.
Having lived here for several years, I haven't visited many places, familiar with few spots, and unfamiliar with many, yet unwilling to move about, letting myself float on the surface of the city. If one day I truly leave, perhaps I'll remember the good things about this place. It would be better to start appreciating the scenery of this city now with an appreciative rather than critical eye. Let myself cherish and reminisce more. Let life be here. Even though we're still in the late-summer heat, I'm already immersed in the brilliant autumn memories of the past. This autumn should not be missed.