Yandu Ancient City | This Time, Listen to the Story of the Wind (Part 1)

The charm of nature is in its inadvertent displays and the wonder revealed upon appreciation.

Even though it has coexisted with heaven and earth, journeying with human civilization through the torrents of time; or intimately accompanies every moment of all life—nature still has the power to make the soul tremble with sudden emotion.

Color is perhaps the most immediate sensation. Bold or muted, deep or light, a whimsical palette of hues unfolds in radiant splendor, putting even man-made techniques to shame.

Yet nature also has an element beyond these vivid displays, one that through its unique form brings a distinctive charm to the world.

‘A spring outing, apricot blossoms blown over the head.’ At the season of renewal, the breeze that sweeps through the halls is playful as a child. It wanders through the flower beds of Yandu Ancient City, teasing those on the ground and shaking off those blooming on branches, then saunters away draped in fragrance, secretly wrapping passersby in the scent of distant places.

Summer winds are more capricious. Under the sun, they carry the warmth of light, hence the saying ‘summer breezes are balmy and mild’; even as they brush past, they feel warm and gentle. Beneath the ‘thick shade of trees,’ it’s a different sensation. A light wind skims the Yishui River, stirring ripples and releasing fresh notes from the veins of lotus leaves, finally delivering the water-cooled temperature to those escaping the heat under the trees.

Ginkgo leaves before Babai Pavilion, scattered by the wind, weave a golden brilliance in the air. On a day that is otherwise mild and pleasant, there is distinctly a crisp and invigorating spirit.

This is because of the autumn wind.

The autumn wind has taken on a bit of an edge, making its presence unmistakable, yet at the same time it is cool and refreshing. Much like the mature charm of the season, the wind at this time balances boldness and gentleness to perfection.

The clear blue sky, the white fluffy clouds, the vivid painted colors on buildings—all shed their haziness, becoming sharply defined by the wind, perhaps capturing the essence of the phrase ‘autumn is high and the air is crisp.’

The winter wind in the north carries the grandeur of the vast land. Unsoftened, it infuses its might into its howl, rushing straight at you until your face stings.

The winter wind in Yandu Ancient City barrels through the streets, rustling branches and leaves, only at last delivering its biting cold into people’s breath, turning it into wisps of white mist.