Vrinda Mathur

Have you noticed the street tree? Partitioned next to a bench, next to a trash can, next to a streetlamp. Some blossom like a newborn's cheeks, some a blinding bright green, and, when the seasons change, they bring out their best fall monotones. You may have seen trees elsewhere too. In the park, while on an evening stroll, or on hikes in a forest, on television when there is news of fires spreading across the Californian coast, and on social media when climate activists passionately share their worries about the dying Amazon.

You are given the opportunity to build a connection with nature through trees, you may have jumped and sat and climbed and hugged them. You might feel for them. You might know you need them. You might even want to protect them. You can be a steward, hugger, and nature lover.

But have you ever seen a marsh?

Striated along our coastline, next to the white sand, next to the pebbled pathway, next to the ocean. Coastal wetlands guard our shores as the first line of defense against extreme weather events. They hide and seek with the tide, doubling up as a nursing ground for a myriad species of animals and birds. They are lush and green with pops of pink in the summer months, fading to a golden sparkle over the winter. 

You don’t see the marsh by the street, instead, you fill the marsh to make your streets. You don’t see them by the beach in the excitement of rushing towards that dip in the ocean. You don’t see them on television because you have the luxury to skip, ignore, or move on, and you don’t see them on social media, because, the Amazon is dying.