We live on the leash of our senses.

I am a great fan of the universe, which I take literally: as one. All of it interests me, and it interests me in detail.

I swear I will not dishonor my soul with hatred, but offer myself humbly as a guardian of nature, as a healer of misery, as a messenger of wonder, as an architect of peace.

Hurricane season brings a humbling reminder that, despite our technologies, most of nature remains unpredictable.

Nothing is more memorable than a smell. One scent can be unexpected, momentary and fleeting, yet conjure up a childhood summer beside a lake in the mountains...

And yet, words are the passkeys to our souls. Without them, we can't really share the enormity of our lives.

On some summer days in New York City, the air hangs thickly visible, like the combined exhalations of eight million souls. Steam rising from vents underground makes you wonder if there isn't one giant sweat gland lodged beneath the city.