Before me is a radiant beam of energy, brilliant, dynamic and powerful.
Behind me sits a beautiful, grey Pearl, flaunting its rounded perfection in the glint of the light.
To my left, I see a sandy beach, lying patient and seemingly wholly impervious as the birds, the surf and the wind wage war on its components.
To my right is a dragon of red and gold, soaring terrible and menacing through the air.

All but unassembled matter and energy, save for the hand of man:
The radiant beam is a cathode ray, and I cannot see it directly; only its effects on the light-sensetive phosphors lining the glass of my monitor.
The Pearl is of the Forum series, a beautiful drum kit in dark grey; each of its cylindrical shells shaped to perfect roundness by a CNC machine.
The beach scene, although grand and vivid, is but a painting, and even in this seemingly fantastical depiction, the main feature - previously unmentioned - is a fence.
The dragon is a hand carving, skillfully fashioned of a light and pliable wood, and ornately decorated with paints. It is approximately two feet long.

I am in a room, with adjustable artificial light, insulated walls, and a stuffiness typical of well-built older homes fitted with modern windows. There is music playing, on the computer; selections by Amorphis, the Tea Party, Marcy Playground, Tool, Days of the New, Nash the Slash and Aaron Copland. All were chosen for their earthiness and reminiscence of the natural world. Something - anything, at this point - to remind me that there is one, and that there are people who still care about it. As I sit here and long to again see the near-wilderness that I have been so privileged as to see, and so sheltered as to be protected from for the majority of my life, I wonder: is there anything now left within my reach that man has not touched?