Marshland Magic: A Visit That Changed Us

“Imagination breathes color into everything—even when your eyes have already seen the wonder, your heart paints it deeper.” — Marsha

There are moments in life that imprint themselves on your soul—not loud or dramatic ones, but quiet and powerful. One of those moments happened during a short, unplanned visit to the wetlands of Colombia with my twin sister, Martha. We thought it would be a simple stop—but it became a memory we’ll carry forever.

The wetlands weren’t polished or postcard-perfect. They were wild, living, breathing. The hush of wind brushing through mangroves, the golden wings of birds skimming mirrored waters, the scent of earth and stillness—it all felt like something ancient and sacred. Like stepping into a place where time slowed down.

We met Alma there, a girl from the nearby village. She hadn’t traveled far, but her spirit seemed to stretch across the sky. She didn’t need fancy words—her love for her home came through in everything she did. She guided us barefoot through muddy paths and through laughter-laced boat rides, pointing out birds with names we couldn’t pronounce and plants that healed or stung. Alma didn’t realize it, but she was teaching us. Not just about nature—but about respect, about wonder, about being present.

And then there were the capybaras.

Oh, how we loved them! We had seen rodents before, but nothing like these. Gentle, enormous, soft-eyed creatures lounging in muddy puddles or paddling silently through the reeds. There was something almost human in their calm presence. They were peaceful, family-oriented, and somehow magical.

I never knew a rodent could be so lovable, so regal in its quiet strength. Watching a baby capybara climb onto its mother’s back while she stood in still water is something I’ll always carry with me. It was nature at its most tender.

That weekend, I couldn’t sleep. My imagination had taken flight. Every rustle outside the cabin became a story in my mind. Creatures I’d never seen but could feel in the dark. Glowing eyes. Whispering leaves. Wild things, maybe real, maybe not—but it didn’t matter. My heart believed.

Yet even as my mind raced, I wasn’t scared. I was safe—because Martha was in the room. Like always. Her quiet bravery has been my anchor since we were small. She didn’t laugh at my wild stories. She just listened.

That visit reminded me that real adventure isn’t loud. It’s in the still places, in the people who cross your path unexpectedly, and in the animals that teach us what gentleness really means. It’s in the spark of imagination when you’re standing somewhere unfamiliar—and choosing to see it with wide, open eyes.

And sometimes, it’s simply in knowing that your twin sister is right beside you… ready to dream with you all over again.