The Product of an Overactive Imagination: Mother Nature is Sentient

The reason we haven't realized it is she is not some wise old Mother, she's like the 3-year-old who allows you to build a tower with blocks, only to knock them down delightedly and say “Do it again.” She is at this game endlessly with man and all our works, because she is so vast she waits more patiently than a 3-year-old, because her life is so long her tearing down can take generations, but it is no less deliberate; from her view it is no less a pleasure when she swipes her hand and it takes 2000 thousand years to complete the swipe. But sometimes, like a 3-year-old, she throws a tantrum when something isn't coming down fast enough, she employs not only her slow hand of erosion, rust, slowly shifting earth, and rains, but pulls out the baseball bat, the gun, and the missile. A 3-year-old holds these in her hands, fires at our works, smiles and says “Do it again.” And we, we do it again, we build it bigger, we build it stronger, we dare her to shake it, buffet it, and hit it with all she's worth and, because she's a 3-year-old, she'll gladly oblige.

Next time the wind howls and shakes your house, listen and hear if you don't agree. She's laughing at you, at us. To her it's all a game.