Mike

“I am not a place where nature can be weeded and tamed and kept in order. I am tree roots — and dark hollows — and ancient moss — and the cry of owls. I am not a thing that you can shape, not anymore. I am no garden, but the woods, and if you ever come near me again, every bit of wildness in me will rise up to bite you. I will tear your throat out with my teeth.”
― Elliott Gish, Grey Dog