I’ve sometimes heard the argument, from otherwise articulate and passionate advocates for nature, that there’s no point in trying to preserve what remains of Britain’s wildlife because there is so little of it left. But even three or four butterflies met on a summer’s walk can be as magical and transformative as those teeming meadows of old. The wonder of the wild world, whether poorer or not, is no less meaningful on an individual level for the changeable status of its base material.
