Overheard on NPR last night: "Nature is a damp place over which large numbers of ducks fly uncooked."
Boggling to think how limited the scope of my ecological imagination; this child has only known city and suburban sprawling sinister.
You can't really miss trees if you've never known them wild, only manicured, bowed light and fruitless over gated grassy knolls. Jack and Jill could never tumble down the hills I've walked; they'd break their crowns crimson, blood snaking into pavement cracks.
Elsewhere, forests are burning. Repeat it like a child's playground taunt, a modern nursery chant.