Golden Rain of Ginkgo Leaves in Dandong's Autumn

When autumn deepens, Dandong is steeped in a golden dream. The first to awaken are the ancient ginkgo trees on Qijing Street. Their bark cracks like the backs of old men's hands, yet their branches stubbornly stretch toward the sky, sifting sunlight into scattered gold. While morning dew still clings to leaf tips, green begins to fade quietly—first, the edges blush with pale yellow, like ink diffusing on rice paper. Within days, the entire tree ignites into a torch, and when the wind passes, countless leaves clap their hands, rustling as they settle into the grooves of the stone-paved road. Children love to wait beneath the trees for the wind. The moment it arrives, butterfly-like leaves spiral down, and they leap to catch them. Just as their fingertips brush those delicate "little fans," the sunlight hidden in the veins burns their hands, making them pull back. An old man pushing a cart of candied hawthorns passes by, wooden wheels crunching over the piled leaves, the sound mingling with the cooing of pigeons filtering through the branches—a melody as soft as late autumn itself. The ginkgo-lined avenue is gentlest at dusk. The setting sun stretches the tree shadows long, and a schoolgirl in uniform picks up a perfect leaf to press between her textbook pages. Under lamplight, its veins reveal a delicate web, as if someone embroidered the patterns of time upon it. At the street corner, elders settle onto small stools, saying these trees are older than their grandfathers—having survived artillery shells during the war and sheltered people from storms in famine years. Now, they shed golden snow each year, a blessing of peace for the entire city. As night deepens, streetlights glow, and leaves float in the halos like honeyed treasures. Occasionally, a latecomer walks by, crushing starlight underfoot and startling a few lingering leaves that whirl after their steps—reluctant to leave, eager for one last look at this gold-wrapped city. They watch chimney smoke rise through the branches, see countless home lights reflected in their translucent palms. Dandong's autumn is never bleak. These ginkgo leaves fall and regrow, distilling centuries of stories into warmth held in one's palm. Year after year, they whisper to every passerby in the wind.