- E.O. Wilson, The Diversity of Life:
It is half an hour after sunset one early April, and I am trying to be invisible.
I lift one foot in a slow and soundless arc, letting it nose gently to ground before I transfer my weight. A robin fusses momentarily beneath the eaves of the hemlocks, and then quiet resumes. I lift the other foot. The drifts of leaf litter underfoot rustle and sigh. I imagine coyotes and songbirds tucked into the forest like coins in coat pockets, listening tense and wide-eyed to my slow transit through the oak leaves.