Nature cares only for species, not individuals. So watch your butt out there.
I find an incongruity in connecting with the whole of a creation that does not give a hoot about me. Lightning strikes, trees fall, nor'easters dump three feet of snow in 24 hours. I have to scramble sometimes to keep from being maimed or worse. I begin to wonder if I might not be exactly welcome.
And then there is a calm afternoon on a leaf-spattered hillside. The smells of rotting deadwood, aged cherry leaves and spicy dried fern mix in the warming air. Cedar waxwings flit through the mountain holly, nuthatches probe the bark of the white oaks, squirrels fill their secret larders. And a deer comes along and gives itself to me.
This is the real world. This is life. Life is fraught with death. We are in the Circle. The artificial stress and press of civilization kills, bit by bit, my innocent spirit. Living those few weeks every year in my hunting camp reminds me that the true creation still exists, the balance is being maintained and perhaps will outlive us in the end. I praise God's intricate handiwork, and look for ways to make Him grin. And then after I use up my vacation days, I come down off the mountain and work my butt off at my stupid job, going steadily insane, so I can go back to camp next year and learn it again.
Killdeer
"It ever was, and is, and shall be, Ever Living Fire,
In measures being kindled, and in measures going out."
~Heraclitus