Overwhelmed by problems or everyday annoyances, we lose touch with sensory pleasures as we spend our days in noisy cities and stuffy classrooms. Just as Thoreau walked in the woods to return to his senses, I have a special place where I return to find mine: the salt marsh behind my grandparents' house.
My grandparents live on the East Coast, a mile or so inland from the sea. Between the ocean and the mainland is a wide fringe of salt marsh. A salt marsh is not a swamp but an expanse of dark, spongy soil threaded with saltwater creeks and clothed in a kind of grass called salt meadow hay...
Heading out to the marsh from my grandparents' house, I follow a short path through the woods. Marie Martinez.
There are iron bars around the salt marsh; a few soldiers patrol its borders.
Noisy cities and stuffy classrooms lie to the north; a path leads through the woods.
Lab (#15399) leads to The Lab (#15220) via {lab}.
Path (#15401) leads to The Path (#15400) via {path, short_path}.
North (#15459) leads to The Chapel (#15410) via {north, n}.