Of all the language sources, the loss of nature seems the saddest. A thousand times a day, nature - in the most ordinary of places - has something to tell or show us; something it wants us to touch, smell or feel; it wants all of us, not just the overtly artistic, to express.
I stand holding the apple in both hands. It feels precious, like a heavy treasure. I lift it up and smellit. It has such an odor of outdoors on it. I want to cry.
A man who lives with nature is used to violence and is companionable with death. There is more violence in an English hedgerow than in the meanest streets of a great city.