Why does nature feel like something I have to drive to?

A man came back from a mountain trip, sunburned and proud. He said, 'I finally saw nature.' I said, 'And what did you see on your street this morning?' He said, 'Nothing, just my street.' We sat under my mulberry tree until the pigeons came home to roost, until the sky turned the color of a ripe apricot. He watched a long time. Then he said, 'This is not nature, this is just my yard.' I asked him where his yard ends and the sky begins. He did not have an answer. I did not give him one. This is what happens when nature becomes an event on the calendar. It waits for the weekend, the vacation, the mountain. Meanwhile the real sky, the real weather, the real sparrow on the wire — passes unwatched, like a guest you never greet because you were expecting someone more famous. You do not need a trip to enter nature. You need to stop walking through it with your eyes closed. The tree outside your window has been waiting longer than any mountain.