Nostalgia for the Eternal - Adks

Hard to watch everything failing, trees susceptible, leaves eaten, uprooted. Wishing like mad for rain, white-knuckled over the drying up of brooks. I watch a puddle evaporate and want back the springy rich green, rich black muck of just 25 years ago. It's a keening hard sorrow, to want back the vitality the woods gave me, and instead to witness this swift stress and destruction. The days are harsh hot and alien, inviting plagues of japanese beatles and who knows what all else. Many, like the frog brought to boil in the pot, simply don't notice. Why do I?