Visiting the Dongzhaigang Mangrove Forest

Ten years ago, I rode a wooden boat through the mangrove forest, the boat pole breaking the morning mist and startling egrets, white as snow. Grey herons stood on dead tree stumps, mudskippers leaped from the mudflats, and birds skimmed the water's surface. Even breathing felt like a disturbance to this wild place. Now, I walk on a wide wooden boardwalk, past neat pavilions and clear signs. The laughter of tourists drowns out the sound of the tide, electric boats glide through manicured greenery, and the occasional bird perched on a branch seems like a fading inkblot. Venturing into the undeveloped swamp in the northwest corner, I suddenly see a few curlews rise into the sky, their wingtips slicing through the midday sun. They are still here, just hidden further away. Looking back on my return, the freshly painted "Ecological Demonstration Area" sign gleams coldly. Perhaps the true scenery lies not on the boardwalk beneath our feet, but in the untouched mangrove forest and the sky we dare not disturb.