I like to think (it has to be!) of a cybernetic ecology where we are free of our labors and joined back to nature, returned to our mammal brothers and sisters, and all watched over by machines of loving grace.
Commoner's three laws of ecology: (1) No action is without side-effects. (2) Nothing ever goes away. (3) There is no free lunch.
Most of what I really need to know about how to live, and what to do, and how to be, I learned in kindergarten. Wisdom was not at the top of the graduate school mountain but there in the sandbox at nursery school. These are the things I learned: Share everything. Play fair. Don't hit people. Put things back where you found them. Clean up your own mess. Don't take things that aren't yours. Say you're sorry when you hurt someone. Wash your hands before you eat. Flush. Warm cookies and cold milk are good for you. Live a balanced life. Learn some and think some and draw and paint and sing and dance and play and work some every day. Take a nap every afternoon. When you go out into the world, watch for traffic, hold hands, and stick together. Be aware of wonder. Remember the little seed in the plastic cup. The roots go down and the plant goes up and nobody really knows how or why, but we are all like that. Goldfish and hamsters and white mice and even the little seed in the plastic cup -- they all die. So do we. And then remember the book about Dick and Jane and the first word you learned, the biggest word of all: LOOK. Everything you need to know is in there somewhere. The Golden Rule and love and basic sanitation. Ecology and politics and sane living. Think of what a better world it would be if we all -- the whole world -- had cookies and milk about 3 o'clock every afternoon and then lay down with our blankets for a nap. Or if we had a basic policy in our nation and other nations to always put things back where we found them and cleaned up our own messes. And it is still true, no matter how old you are, when you go out into the world it is best to hold hands and stick together. -- Robert Fulghum, "All I ever really needed to know I learned in kindergarten"
MARSH (O. F. _mersc_, for _merisc_, a place full of "meres" or pools; cf. Ger. _Meer_, sea, Lat. _mare_), an area of low-lying watery land. The significance of a marsh area is not so much in the manner of its formation as in the peculiar chemical and physical results that accompany it, and its relation to the ecology of plant and animal life. Chemically it is productive of such gases as arise from decomposing vegetation and are transitory in their effects, and in the production of hydrated iron oxide, which may be seen floating as an iridescent scum at the edge of rusty, marshy pools. This sinks into the soil and forms a powerful iron cement to many sandstones, binding them into a hard local mass, while the surrounding sandstones are loose and friable. A curious morphological inversion follows in a later geological period, the marsh area forming the hard cap of a hill (see MESA) while the surrounding sandstones are weathered away. Salt marshes are a feature of many low-lying sea-coasts and areas of inland drainage. Entry: MARSH
The department of geographical botany made rapid advance by means of the various scientific expeditions which have been sent to all quarters of the globe, as well as by individual effort (see PLANTS: _Distribution_) since the time of A. von Humboldt. The question of the mode in which the floras of islands and of continents have been formed gave rise to important speculations by such eminent botanical travellers as Charles Darwin, Sir J.D. Hooker, A.R. Wallace and others. The connexion between climate and vegetation has also been studied. Quite recently under the name of "Ecology" or "Oecology" the study of plants in relation to each other and to their environment has become the subject of systematic investigation. Entry: A