I feel grateful to run my hands over the dirt and listen to the crickets. I would not live in any other world than our own, because I feel a peace of mind I cannot replicate when I peel my being from society, like a sticker from a plastic sheet, to smooth it where it looks the prettiest: somewhere lost in all the dirt and weeds and rocks. No other world could find a fitting niche for both the finch and mountain lion, both the heron and the buffalo. It is a strange world, more we primates can imagine from our office cubicles. We reside in a world which houses amoeba and bacteria, sea sponges and angler fish, and don’t take a moment of our day to acknowledge the ferocity of it all. We overlook the placidity of running water for fear of getting wet, and we lose the grandeur of great heights for fear of tumbling so far. Seems wasteful, to pawn away experience as quiet, but as all-consuming as the wilderness.