Nature is this sort of nostalgia. It is human nature. How you parse and equivocate, your selective memory. The tilt of your sentences. Without habitat, nature encroaches, stripping the pods from garden peas in the suburbs. If you have the guts to walk at 3 a.m. you will see whole antlered herds under the stars, chewing and peeing at the same time, and watch the pee steam in the induction light of street lamps. Foxes hurry down sidewalks as if they are late for a meeting, counting their steps, a number which will legitimize their presence on the planet.
