Why is it that man feels himself among the leaves, the bark, the wasting prairie? What can be found in the beauty of flowers which cannot be found in the beauty of engineering, the product of cold mathematics? Perhaps this beauty is grounded in a sense of wonder, a sort of envy beyond the limits of skin, muscles, and tissue. Just as there is wonder in the fingertips of a maestro perched atop his piano, there is wonder in the wings of the hummingbird. We see something we cannot fathom ourselves performing, we envy, we dream. Intent on that beauty, we train, we search, we experiment. Curiosity may have killed the cat, but it also has killed much of our wonder about the distant sands of Mars, proving the liquid spring of life also resided there once. Yet, though Mars missions are now commonplace, they have not yet been relegated to the mundane. We can understand something without killing our wonder, we can wring it out from a understood, mechanistic universe. With the lens of science inserted in our microscope like minds, there is only more opportunity to find wonder through experience. The ball of gas overhead; spherical, eternal, is only more wonderful in context of the sheer pressure and probability it needs to shine. Though it is not eternal, only possessing relative longevity due to our fleeting minds, its lifespan is a fraction of an even more enrapturing story. We seek wonder to survive, to ensure, to profit, simply to know, to imagine, to educate, to delight, to share, to wonder. There is a sense of belonging and wonder in nature because immersed in it, man is among a similarly wonderful balancing act.