"""That very night in Max's room a forest grew and grew— and grew until his ceiling hung with vines and the walls became the world all around"" ‍What is “wild,” really? It’s untouched. Far from home. Far from humans. Animals beholden to no man. But when you visit these “remote” locations, you get your Santa-outing moment. Those crystal-clear springs with manatees from documentaries and magazines? Lined with homes and pontoons. The leopard resting in a tree? Surrounded by safari vans. Herds of bison crossing the Lamar Valley? Peaceful... until you look left and right to see a road jammed with cars. Those endless jungles where gorillas roam? They do, in fact, end. And abruptly. Reverse the roles in Sendak’s story. After all, who are the real beasts in this tale? In Max's forest homes were built and built— and built until his trees and vines were cleared and the jungle became farmland.‍ This image carries more weight than any I’ve taken deep in the forest. Because just over his shoulder— humans. Villages. Plowed fields. Breathing down his neck. His childlike posture. His gaze. There’s no aggression in his eyes. No fear. Just fact. This is what’s becoming of Max’s room. He’s accepted it. But that doesn’t mean we have to."