In St James’ Park, London, there is a bench with a plaque that reads, “Rudolph Steiner’s favourite view”. This isn’t it! I like this one better with its daisies, courting pelicans and beautiful trees on the other side of the lake. The grass has been nibbled to within an eighth of an inch of its life by ravenous rabbits and I sense it would feel compacted if I were to walk on it. London traffic roars around the perimeter of the park, exposing man’s money madness; the grass continues to grow.