I am an airplane in the Anthropocene. Everyday I fly back and forth between an island off the coast of Madagascar and any one of the world’s twenty mega-cities, picking up nostalgic passengers yearning to see the last bit of conserved nature on the planet. Today, I departed from New York City. On board is a middle-aged father and ten year old son. The father appears concerned and weary, perhaps guilty. He was warned about this – about the time that his kids would lose the natural world he loved, yet treated with hatred. His son is thrilled for this trip and ironically thanks his father, but he swiftly waves off the appreciation and wonders what had been missing from the warnings. Why did he not change his ways to preserve nature all those years ago?