By William Higgins | Oct 11 2017by William Higgins The line between nature and soul isn’t manicured. It’s a wild hedgerow that splits cool dirt, a tree through the window or the river that arches like a spine through the campus. Mold runs across crown moulding in the French room and mildew fills the air.A bookshop grows a block long beneath the earth like a magnificent Armillaria. The line between nature and soul isn’t mani- -cured, and denizens mine along that line. With a splayed compasson a duster or bong shaped like a snake. I walk back from night class between the creek and the green and am afraidof a pair of sewed-on devil horns moving out from behind the heavy elms.