Would I ever read it? Another volume from a natural history book club had arrived in the mail. Month after month they came, but I was so engaged in doing natural history that I read none of them. A few decades later, with more time to spare in my Wisconsin home on peaceful Waubesa Wetlands, I finally picked the volume off the shelf and began to read John Muir. As I turned the pages, I soon found myself caught up in a psalmic crescendo. It was not only Muir’s lyrical writing but also the familiar soundtrack playing in the background. Ever present, it occasionally surfaced in visible text but more often rung in resonating allusions – ever present, always playing. This soundtrack, I was to discover, was one by which he lived, moved, and had his being.