I value the Spotted Northern Owl more than competing interests;
I appreciate it far more than I do driving a gas-powered SUV;
I love it more deeply than all the beef cattle in the world;
I think more of it than I do deforestation and urbanization;
I pray for it, unlike vain politician’s wives, heading to CPAC to pray to the devil;
I worry about what its declining numbers means for our virtue as stewards of the planet;
I long for its continued presence quite unlike how I feel about a developer’s dreams of glory;
I respect it in a way that I do not some furrier’s rapine of fauna;
I am in awe of it—quite the opposite of what comes up for me when I envision Senator Ted Cruz;
I grow pessimistic for our future as a species when we value the burning of ancient fossil fuels more than we do life;
I lament its loss, for nothing can stem the tide of progress, the love of profit, the lure of power—that inexorable force that betrays men’s souls.
