One of the most ironic things about moving to the city is it has brought me closer to nature.

It had been years since I’d raked the yard, because almost two acres of land with tons of leafy trees was too much to take on. But here, having a microscopic yard with three deciduous trees, one of which thoughtfully leans over into our neighbor’s yard to shed its leafy burden, means raking and bagging takes me roughly eleven minutes. Then, there’s our dog. In the old place, Nelly loved sitting on the side porch, affixed to the house by a long lead outside so she could roam about. This meant my outdoor involvement with Nelly, apart from the occasional belly rub, was limited to clipping her on or off the lead. Now I must walk her, or take her to the nearby dog park. I also have to pick up her poop.

There are very few things that make you feel closer to nature than being obliged to clean up after it, whether as a result of a dog or a tree. I am now compelled to participate in stewardship responsibilities that living in the suburbs justified avoiding. Surprisingly, I’m feeling okay with that. In fact, I’m feeling pretty good. The truth is, moving to an urban setting has made nature simultaneously more precious and more manageable.

I’ll have to get back to you after the first big snowstorm.