In the end nature is inexorable: it has no reason to hurry and sooner or later it takes what belongs to it. Unconsciously and inflexibly obedient to its own laws it doesn't know art just as it doesn't know freedom just as it doesn't know goodness.
It's life isn't it? You plow ahead and make a hit. And you plow on and someone passes you. Then someone passes them. Time levels.
