A professor once assigned me to select and watch over a small plot of land in the city. I was to take weekly notes on its changes, so as to understand the site’s history and record the details of its evolution. To make it easy on myself, I chose the small, gated garden of a church across the street from my apartment building. I could have watched it from my kitchen table on the seventh floor, but I followed instructions and sat on the stone bench of the garden every day. There I surveyed the dried leaves in the empty fountain and counted the dwindling flowers on a bush. The class met once per week, and we each gave an update on our plot: dirty gum flattened on asphalt, the introduction of a blue bottle cap, the gradual undressing of a tree. The assignment was an exercise in attention; we were to pay closer notice of the subtle transformations endlessly taking place. The corresponding reading assignments were about how matter is not passive nor a blank slate.…