Autumn in Dali: An Encounter Between an Ancient City and Time

Autumn in Dali always carries a kind of filtered clarity. When the first ray of morning light brushes over the shoulder of Cangshan Mountain, I step onto the cool breeze and walk onto the cobblestone streets of Dali Ancient Town, attending a date with the autumnal ancient city. The autumn of the ancient city hides around the corners of the streets. There’s no need to deliberately find a path; just let your feet follow the patterns of the cobblestones, your fingertips brushing past the mottled earthen walls. Bougainvillea climbing the walls still holds scattered bright red blossoms, yet they have already taken on a touch of autumn’s sparseness. The ginkgo trees by the roadside have just shed the deep green of midsummer; their leaf tips blur into a pale goose yellow. When the wind blows, a few leaves twirl down, landing perfectly on the blue-and-white fabric awning of a Bai ethnic tie-dye shop at the corner, like nature’s spontaneous brushstrokes, adding a lively touch beyond the shop’s dyed cloth. Following the crowd deeper, you arrive at Foreigner Street. The autumn sunlight is not as scorching as in summer; it filters through the leaves, scattering dappled light on the stone pavement, warm just right. The cafes along the street have their doors wide open, releasing rich coffee aromas that mingle with the sweet scent of roasted milk curd from the neighboring shop, creating a unique autumn atmosphere in the ancient city. I found a window seat, ordered a cup of local Pu’er tea, watched the leisurely footsteps of passersby outside, and listened to the soft laughter from the next table. Suddenly, I understood the meaning of “slowing down”—it turns out that the autumn ancient city is meant for wasting time. In the afternoon, following the sound of water, I came to Honglong Well. The alleys washed by autumn water are especially clear; the weeping willows on the bank remain soft, though their branches are a bit sparse, reflecting in the water like a faint ink wash painting. Several Bai elders sit on stone benches by the shore, basking in the sun, chatting in Mandarin with a local dialect. Occasionally, children run by with pinwheels, their crisp laughter stirring ripples on the water and breaking up the light and shadow on the bank. The water of Honglong Well is shallow but reflects the outline of Cangshan Mountain, the autumn colors on the shore, and the most everyday, lively scenes of the ancient city. As the sun sets, I climbed the ancient city wall. From this height, the entire ancient city is bathed in a warm golden glow. The blue-gray rooftops layer upon layer, orderly yet staggered; the wind chimes at the eaves gently sway in the autumn breeze, producing delicate sounds as if telling the ancient city’s stories. In the distance, Cangshan Mountain is dyed orange-pink by the sunset, the snow on the peaks faintly visible in the twilight, echoing the city’s lively atmosphere—both heavy with the weight of time and tender with autumn’s warmth. Lanterns gradually light up the streets below the city wall, their warm yellow light shining through paper covers, winding along the cobblestone paths like a flowing river of stars, making the ancient city’s autumn night exceptionally romantic. When night falls, I sit on the stone steps of the South Gate of the ancient city, watching the tourists coming and going, listening to the Bai folk songs from afar. The autumn breeze brushes my face, carrying a faint osmanthus fragrance. Suddenly, I feel that this autumn trip to the ancient city is not just a journey but a conversation with time. Here, autumn is not a synonym for desolation but a gentle messenger, blending the stillness of Cangshan, the clarity of Erhai Lake, and the warmth of the ancient city into time itself, allowing everyone who steps here to shed their fatigue and immerse themselves in the beauty of autumn. As I rise to leave, I glance back at the ancient city glowing with lights and suddenly understand that some scenes don’t need to be captured by a camera; they only need to be kept in the heart. Autumn in Dali Ancient Town is such an encounter—once experienced, never forgotten.