When I imagine the coast, the smell of the salty sea hits me almost as hard as the waves crash into the cliff side. The gentle, fresh breeze runs her fingers through my hair, reminding me to breathe in the serene landscape. The return of spring was marked by the squawking of birds swelling in from the sea overhead; the vibrant wildflowers that bloomed along the cliffside, attracting the bees and humming birds and foxes; the halo of light peaking in from the clouds, announcing his present with warmth; and the tangle of luscious, green grasses that sprouted up from the fertile soil beneath my feet. I catch a whiff of freshly baked bread, roasted vegetables and meat, and burning wood flowing towards me. I look to see the lively village in the distance, its inhabitants dancing with maypoles and feasting on a plentiful supper to celebrate the return of the warm months. After a long winter of slumber and recuperating in the warmth of their homes, the townspeople look forward to a multi-day celebration filled with food, laughter, and the return of spring.
Further from the coast, the inland spanned miles of rolling, grassy hills and rocky terrain. Patches of farmland overgrown with crops, cattle happily and lazily grazing on the grasses that overtook the valley, and locals scattered about plucking the weeds on the fields. After venturing further into the mainland from the coast, I arrived at a quaint market town with few strangers and a population of less than a thousand. As I passed by, the locals carried on their day; carrying their local produce and fresh groceries back to their homes in preparation for supper; closing up their shops for the day to return to their family and celebrate the incoming spring; or contently sitting outside with their coffee and book, basking in the fresh atmosphere of spring breeze and the salty sea. A soft, peaceful ambience blanketed the town and the coast, hinting that the long winter days would soon become warm summer nights.
But when I returned to the once lively coastal town years later, something had shifted. The calm, blithesome ambience that settled over the town had dissipated, as if warded away by evil, and was instead a dark plume hovered. The flood of birds migrating back from the south never arrived, an eerie silence settling over the town void of the cacophony of chirping; the wildflowers ceased to paint the meadows purple and yellow and orange, leaving the petals that once attracted much wildlife and insects whittle to ash; the grasses rotted as quickly as they grew, leaving the cattle with nothing to sustain their life; and the townspeople that welcomed the gestures of spring all those years ago were as absent as the birds, leaving the village I once knew as a hub of laughter a deserted ghost town. The invaders threatened the tranquil atmosphere that the local townspeople and nature harbored. Instead of appreciating the symbolic relationship between the cliffs that keep the townspeople safe from the relentless sea and the people that protect the preservation of the natural landscape, the morally corrupt invaders only saw through the perspective of economic value, viewing nature as a commodity to be sold instead of a living being to be valued and worshipped. These unwanted pilgrims robbed nature of the pristine beauty of the coast and cliffs that govern the natural world, leaving behind a dreadful lull.
