I walked the short mile down a dirt path that connects the protected wetland island to the shore of Lake Erie. The area is a haven for all types of wild life, although the surrounding miles are heavy polluted. Just several miles south of Detroit, was named by French fur traders in the 17th century, denoting its damp and humid nature. Now, in the distance, two nuclear plants stand tall, an alien sight for anyone born before the 20th century. Lake Erie is the most polluted of the five Great Lakes, and just north is where the Detroit river once caught on fire.

In the east I spotted a dark cloud, a sort of harbinger of the potential dangers we face. I search endlessly for natural beauty in my southeastern quadrant of Michigan, and it does not fail to show itself from time to time when I look for it. But the industry of man is nearly impossible to avoid in daily life. I wonder how Walden felt.