Work Text:
Do we depend on the green in the grass?
Or perhaps the clarity of the sun?
Nature is the biggest cliché in existence.
Natural oils, natural scents, natural ingredients.
The allure of the wilderness is all enticing.
White foxes dance in the snow like shadows at night.
Simply effortless.
Roses unravel at the touch of rain and weep at its passing.
Rodents burrow into the sodden subterranean realm with the smile of inhabitance.
We cower in a blizzard, retreating to our artificialities.
We shiver in the storm, straining with every possibility to remove ourselves from this inconvenience.
We're repulsed by dirt. Earth.
Natural is a contradiction.
We crave asylum from the harshness of nature yet claim to yearn mother nature herself.
An aberration of species.
Our nature is communication.
Our nature is technology.
The Earth is a wilderness, vast and untamed.
It waits forever until the day when we allow ourselves vulnerability.
And when we do.
We're forcefully enveloped into it.