But one of the major problems with all of these kinds of writing is that they can border on the dualistic, writing about ‘nature’ as though it were something ‘out there’, separate from us. Something that we ‘venture into’, if we happen to have a spare moment. Something that we ‘experience’, like going for a walk. Something separate from us that conveys a sense of ‘wellbeing’ when you’re ‘out in it’. That nature-human/culture dualism is at the heart of our broken relationship with the world and our deepening sense of disconnection, and the very concept of ‘nature writing’ seems to perpetuate it. What then about the place of humans and our own relationship with nature? Shouldn’t we also be focused on writing about ourselves as part of a landscape, place, ecosystem? – for there is an argument that this is what forms the heart of contemporary nature writing (or what some people here in the UK are labelling ‘the new nature writing’, a term which to me doesn’t seem to answer any of the questions but merely poses a few more). This is the kind of writing which transcends the traditional forms of the genre and fully reflects the complexities of our contemporary existence as an intrinsic part of a world in crisis. And so there is a strong argument that the relationship between humans and the rest of the natural world should become a key focus for future writing in the field that was formerly called ‘nature writing’ – the natural world not just as an incidental backdrop to human existence, but as a part of us, and we a part of it.