we are wild

Henry David Thoreau’s words and Jodie Herbage‘s photographs are the only things saving my mind from condensing into (another large non-fat, vanilla) latte foam after all these hours in the library.

It is in vain to dream of a wilderness distant from ourselves. There is nonesuch. It is the bog in our brains and bowels, the primitive vigor of nature in us, that inspires that dream

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