Waking up in the middle of the woods, alone, is like waking up in a world that has not yet been ruined. No sirens, no hum of distant highways, no flickering blue screens spoon-feeding you the anxieties of the modern age. Just the air—sharp and clean—filling your lungs, thick with the scent of pine, damp earth, and last night’s dying embers. This is not the world as people have remade it, paved over it, stripped it down to numbers and profit margins. No, this is the world as it was, as it still is in the places they haven’t gotten to yet.
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