The sun beams through the slits in my blinds as it rises. The rays caress my skin as they engulf my face, my body, gently notifying me it's time to wake up. Carefully, I peek, keeping my eyes half closed.

Outside, the sun plays with the trees, casting shadows between the park benches and passersby, hurrying on their way, heads down, barely noticing each other as they cross paths.

Eyes are locked on the concrete. The grass - lonely - yearning for a gaze. I look at the green patches of land that stand out amidst the grey of the sidewalk. The grass keeps the trees company, otherwise isolated, in neat symmetrical patterns dotting the road in front of my window.

It's rush hour. Hundreds of people flood the streets, stepping rhythmically on the tarmac as they hurry to their next appointment. Heads buried in their phones, eyes locked on their screens, their bodies performing machine-like actions as they ingest the latest pixels from their devices. I gaze at the grass.

Our fragmented experience of the everyday drives us more apart from and less a part of the rest of nature. We dive into worlds of illusion. We bounce between realities. We seek that next dopamine hit based on someone else's experience posted on social media.