God was grumbling his thunder and playing his zig-zag lightning thru his fingers.
Some crime against nature is about to be committed. I feel it in my veins.
You could feel the sun on your face. You could touch a tree that had roots in the ground. You could walk for miles and never come across the edge of your world.
Every chemical substance, every plant, every animal in its growth, teaches the unity of cause, the variety of appearance.
For it is not light that is needed, but fire; it is not the gentle shower, but thunder. We need the storm, the whirlwind, and the earthquake.
What man has joined, nature is powerless to put asunder.
Here stretch the downs, high and breezy and green, absolutely unchanged since those eventful days. A plough has never disturbed the turf, and the sod that was uppermost then is uppermost now.
I praise the scoring drought, the flying dust the drying creek, the furious animal, that they oppose us still; that we are ruined by the thing we kill.
All of this makes climate change events particularly resistant to the customary frames that literature has applied to "Nature": they are too powerful, too grotesque, too dangerous, and too accusatory to be written about in a lyrical, or elegiac, or romantic vein.
[Nature] did not seem cruel to him then, nor beneficent, nor treacherous, nor wise. But she was indifferent, flatly indifferent.
His mind has the clearness of the deep sea, the patience of its rocks, the force of its billows.
To speak truly, few adult persons can see nature. Most persons do not see the sun.