Verse 9
There is no forest organism called “the forest,” yet remove enough relations and the forest disappears.
There is no forest organism called “the forest,” yet remove enough relations and the forest disappears.
This is how wholes haunt science: real without being single.
A tree is sunlight, carbon, water, fungi, bacteria, minerals, ancestry and accident held in temporary agreement.
So are you.
Oxygen feels free because plants invoice slowly.
Soil seems inert because most of its laborers are small enough to escape your gratitude.
The ocean is not scenery. It is chemistry negotiating with atmosphere on a planetary scale.
Life changed the air and then evolved lungs suited to the air it had changed.
Organisms inherit worlds partly built by organisms that are dead.
Evolution has no foresight, yet it leaves structures that look uncannily like intention to creatures addicted to stories.
Earth is not balanced like a statue. It is balanced like a bicyclist—through constant correction and motion.
Stability is sometimes the visible average of countless disturbances.
Extinction is natural. So is fever. The word natural is not a moral defense.
Humans are not outside the biosphere when destroying it; that is what makes the destruction biologically interesting and personally stupid.
You cannot win a war against your life-support system. Victory is included among the failure modes.