Natura naturans is a hymn to the perpetual generating activity of nature as the soul of the world. In philosophical language, this expression embodies precisely its continuous and constant becoming, or rather the production of its own reality, out of necessity to exist and to operate following its own laws. Infinite is the changing movement of life that surrounds us, governs us and animates us; infinite is our vertigo in front of it. The human being has always had an ambivalent relationship with nature and the song of poets has highlighted it several times, portraying her as a very sweet mother or indifferent stepmother. During the events of this 2020, I listened to both voices inside me intoning anxiety and acceptance, trust and astonished dismay. At a time when man feels invincible and great, nature (or man who in nature acts by causing his own evil) opposes him with a being visible only under the microscope capable of resizing him and redistributing his breath. At a time when the most precious handmaids of Mother Earth, the bees, risk extinction and with them the compromise of the entire reproductive cycle, nature makes a selection by rejecting the parasitic form that threatens its harmony. Nature will always act for nature and will know how to regenerate itself, dying and reborn as it does every day and every season, until it sucks us in, engulfs us, takes us back to its spaces. And as in a very extensive bugonia (the spontaneous generation of life) it would be able to give birth to bees from our corpses, turn us into flowers, bring us back to the earth, resolve our inner conflict in simplicity, in the quiet of those superhuman silences that Leopardi wrote about.