a peaceful place

     Some people raved about Jiangbin Wetland Park, and I was skeptical.

    One fine autumn afternoon, I went to see for myself. Jiangbin Wetland Park isn't far, bordering the Dongyang River, but since it was my first time there, I walked and stopped frequently, taking quite a while. I entered the wetland from the west entrance, and as soon as I got out of the car, I was overwhelmed by the sea of ​​bright red flowers.
    It was a vibrant sea of ​​blossoms, with large red flowers pushing and shoving like waves, seemingly shouting with joy. In this desolate late autumn, I was surprised and amazed. What kind of flower was this? It possessed such strong vitality and courage, daring to compete with the season for beauty.
    I walked into the wetland along a narrow wooden path, barely a meter wide.
    On both sides of the path grew vetiver grass taller than a person. Before seeing this grass, I knew nothing about it; I had gleaned its name from a small information plaque. The vetiver grass was slender and firm to the touch, like needles piercing the sky. Perhaps having just weathered a storm, many vetiver blades lay drooping, yet they struggled to climb upwards under the sunlight. Further on, a tall reed forest stretched out, its stems and leaves intertwined, rustling softly in the autumn wind. Reed flowers had emerged, though not yet light and white, unable to drift away like willow catkins. Not far along, I immediately chuckled at my own shallow arrogance. It turned out this wasn't reed at all, but variegated reed. Despite sharing the same character for "reed" and their similar appearance, I still couldn't distinguish between them.
    The winding path led to a secluded spot. Entering this wetland felt like entering a plant maze.
    Passing through the dense variegated reed forest, another wave of golden flowers surged towards me. The branches and leaves of these large yellow flowers were exactly the same as the large red ones I had seen before; they must belong to the same family. A closer look confirmed it. It was called aquatic canna, with flowers in red, yellow, and orange. Aquatic canna lilies—what a beautiful name! No wonder they grow so gracefully and captivatingly.
    The wooden path, like a small water snake, meanders forward. Suddenly, a small stream catches my eye; it must be a branch of the Dongyang River. The stream is narrow and shallow, with clumps of aquatic canna lilies, flowering reeds, calamus, and some unidentified plants with small yellow and purple flowers growing along its banks. Emerald green water lilies and duckweed grow in the stream, and small fish and tadpoles swim in the water. To my even greater surprise, I saw "water candles," something I hadn't seen in decades. The water candles were ripe, their yellowish-brown fruits growing on slender stems, resembling fragrant roasted sausages. I didn't know if they were edible, or if they were bitter or sweet, but I knew from a young age that they had a magical effect—when I was little, if I cut my finger or kicked my toe and it bled, my mother would rub some water candle powder onto the wound, and the bleeding would always stop quickly. The plants along the stream didn't grow as neatly and systematically as in other parts of the wetland, but their haphazard, scattered growth gave them a pristine beauty.
    Crossing a small wooden bridge, I was once again overwhelmed by an unfamiliar sea of ​​flowers. This time, I was greeted by a flower called the Canna indica. The Canna indica has tall branches and broad leaves, with flowers blooming at the tips, resembling red sorghum, but unlike red sorghum which produces fruit, the Canna indica produces clusters of small purple-white flowers. Strolling through the riverside wetland park, I felt like I was reading a science book; the wetland, nature's teacher, had vividly given me a lesson in botany.
    Tired from walking, I sat down for a rest under the shade of a water canna lily. Sunlight streamed down, and a faint, subtle fragrance wafted on the autumn breeze—it smelled wonderful. At this moment, the sky is blue and the clouds are white, and the surroundings are colorful. In spring, this would be the busiest time for bees, but on this cool autumn day, I don't see their small, busy figures. Instead, dragonflies are flying in the air, among the flowers, flitting about before my eyes. Sometimes, they fly right up to me, so close that I can see their compound eyes clearly. They keep circling and dancing in front of me, as if trying to tell me stories about the wetlands.
    Naturally, the wetland park is full of birds.
    Sparrows, partridges, paddy chickens, and herons all nest and breed here. Of course, there are many more birds living in the wetlands than just these. Look, not far away, a small white and black bird flies to the branch of a regenerating flower. It hops and chirps among the flowers, like a happy sprite. But what kind of bird is it? I have no idea. Standing in this small wetland, I suddenly felt a faint sense of loss. Apart from the calamus, I knew almost nothing else here; everything was new and unfamiliar. Before nature, I felt so shallow and insignificant.
    Fortunately, this feeling was quickly dispelled by the fragrance of flowers and the songs of birds.
    I strolled leisurely amidst the flowers and green grass, sometimes diving into the sea of ​​flowers, sometimes swimming into the verdant waves, like a fish. Nothing disturbed the tranquility of my heart. I listened attentively to the birdsong and insect chirps, watched the flowers and the shadows of the trees, and for a moment, I forgot myself and the world around me, losing track of time. Then, I heard the gentle murmur of flowing water, mingling with the birdsong and the faint sound of the wind. It was like a soft violin melody, clear and tender—the water whispering sweet nothings to the earth. Following the sound, the rushing water grew clearer and more distinct. Through the dense reeds and shrubs, I saw a stream of clear water emerge from a culvert, plunging like a little white dragon into a small pool…
    The winding wooden path abruptly stopped with the sound of the flowing water.
    Directly ahead lay a flat, open space. The green Great Wall of reeds and shrubs carved a gap here; this was the north entrance to the riverside wetland park. Standing on the flat, high river embankment, I had a panoramic view of the beautiful scenery of the Dongyang River.
    The sky was high and the clouds were light. On the river, a white seagull soared.