The Humans

by Matt Haig

Listening to music, I realized, was simply the pleasure of counting without realizing you were counting.

Hope is the thing with feathers That perches in the soul, And sings the tune without the words, And never stops at all.

A piece of nature—grass, flowers, trees—that was not quite allowed to be truly natural. Just as dogs were thwarted wolves, parks were thwarted forests.