The high mountain barrier at the end of the valley looms faintly in the clouds and mist. Various fully yellowed trees are scattered among the evergreen pines, like dying embers still struggling to emit residual heat, shining with a solid glow. The clear sky finally breaks through the layers of clouds, sweeping away the haze in the mountains. Under the crystal-clear blue sky, the brilliant autumn colors gradually emerge from the clouds. Whether cutting corn stalks in the village, digging medicinal herbs on the slopes, or logging in the forest, everyone can look up and see the joyful autumn colors covering the mountains and slopes.
Autumn has left this landscape for a week, but it hasn't taken away all the elements of autumn. The continuous rain hasn't rotted the leaves in the forest; instead, the autumn atmosphere at the far end of the valley is getting closer to the village and stronger. Travelers need not worry; they just need to wait patiently for a dozen clear, sunny days, then they can step out of their rooms and head into the mountains to find even richer and more splendid autumn colors.
When wading upstream in the valley, the mountains still appear slightly dim, but the blazing yellow leaves stand out prominently, as if deliberately stepping out from the dark green forest to enter people's sight. Walking up to the meadow and looking back toward the village, the distant peaks gradually reveal their long-hidden true faces. During the days shrouded in rain and fog, the high, cold ridges had silently accumulated a layer of snow, now a silvery white. The mountain wind tears the clouds apart, and the snow-covered white ridges flash through the clouds. That brief glimpse feels like encountering a fairyland, incredibly pure.
The meadow is the natural boundary between the village and the wilderness. From here, traces of human activity diminish: no houses, no fences for livestock. Only occasionally a few villagers who have to work in the mountains, either carrying saws to log in the forest or sitting on the grassy slope, watching the grazing yellow cattle and goats while basking in the warm sun and chatting with companions. At the edge of the meadow grows a small patch of deciduous trees of various shapes. A few impatient ones have already shed all their leaves, leaving bare branches pointing somewhat shabbily at the sky. But most still flutter their bright leaves in the breeze, emitting a warm glow. Beyond the meadow, far from the village, lies the pristine wilderness. The altitude rises sharply here, the terrain steep and rugged, the sound of the stream louder, and this is where the autumn colors are most intense.
Before reaching the source of the stream, there is a relatively open and gently sloping hillside on the left, though it's only gentle compared to other slopes; climbing up is still somewhat strenuous. A path trampled by yellow cattle and herders winds through the mountain, with clear hoof prints visible. The path is covered with a thick layer of fallen leaves, soft as the touch of winter sunlight. The intermittent sunlight pours through the forest, making the fallen leaves seem to come alive again, radiating vitality without any sense of lifelessness. Looking up at the treetops, yellow and red leaves contrast with the deep blue of the distant sky, appearing even more translucent and bright. Walking in the forest with a view of the valley, I unknowingly found myself in the very mountains I had gazed at from the stream, now merged with the vibrant oranges and scarlets, imbued with their energy and essence.
I've heard that winter in Bazhu Village is the best time to enjoy autumn colors. In this uninhabited wilderness, the ground is covered with undisturbed moss and dead leaves, and many trees have fallen and decayed naturally, their trunks now hosting other plants. The autumn colors linger on tall trees of various hues and graceful forms, like the thick, vivid strokes of clouds at dawn or dusk, so bright and generous. The deeper, higher forests seem like an observer, immersed in enjoying this winter's autumn scenery. The dense forest only retains the sound of birdsong. A bird resembling a turtledove sings under the dark trees. Seeing a moving stranger, it doesn't fly away in haste but seems to observe the traveler's path, then flies to another patch of dark underbrush nearby, politely making way. Once the traveler passes, it returns, as if that is its territory.
