People have varying outlooks on nature. Some are content to unnoticingly rush through their God-given surroundings. Some are so enticed with it that they have an unending desire to study and understand every aspect of it. Still, some have a deep, unquestioning appreciation for nature. "When I Heard the Learn'd Astronomer" by Walt Whitman, peers into two individuals' opinions on their purpose and depth of appreciation for nature.
             Although running his usual ten minutes behind, Jake takes his time in finding his seat for the presentation. He just really doesn't have time for such nonsense; he's got a ranch to run. Besides, the only reason he's here at all is 'cause his wife, Rhonda, insisted on it. What does he care 'bout how the stars are arranged? What does he care about the names so-called Science has given 'em, or exactly what's inside those stars? Jake is a cowboy, in ev'ry sense of the word, but he's not a stupid or an uneducated man He's spent his whole life living with and learning from nature. He sees the stars from the point of view God intended 'em to be seen: from the ground, in admiration and appreciation. He has his own names for each of those stars, and his own opinion of why God put 'em there in the first place. Studyin' and pickin' apart such God-given beauty just doesn't make good sense; it's a blasphemy! Doesn't that silly, monkey-suited city-slicker up there doin' all that mouth-runnin' realize that? It just doesn't make good sense at all! Jake, feeling "...unaccountable [soon becomes] tired and sick..." so even after a quick and stern, ya-better-sit-back-down glance from Rhonda, quietly stands and excuses his impatience, and wanders off by himself (Whitman). He steps out into the warm, fresh, night air. After sittin' and lightin' ...