So then what is this ? I am the hairy Esau of the
open fields, lost before I am started? Between the
two sides, where enmity's flag is unfurled, I will
stand - smooth urban man versus me. My hands
are both vestiges of older times : I can observe, and
I can hold. Fields and waters are tumbling by me, but
quiet as they go. I will be the rough one, the coarse.
I will hit back and strike with a rock. If you tell me
that now only the weak really survive, then I will
have to kill. So, then, what is this, after all?