Image courtesy of wikipedia.
We are pretty out of synch with nature these days, but William Wordsworth (1770-1850) saw it coming way back when. The neo-classical ancient Greek pagan wannabe in me likes this one:
The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers:
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon;
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;
For this, for everything, we are out of tune,
It moves us not.--Great God! I'd rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.
El Cabrero does not get too many glimpses of Proteus or Triton in landlocked West Virginia, but the sentiment works.
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