It's easy to think that we would surprise the fish, if they knew about what was happening just on the other side of the water. All of our cars and psychoanalysts and cold fusion. After all, the fish surprise us all the time. But I have been thinking about how we expect outerspace to be teeming with others, how insulted we continue to be at the lack of contact from other planets. How surprising it would not be if hooks suddenly dropped from the sky to haul us above the clouds and into something different.
The daffodils are coming back, slowly, coaxed by February's ritual false spring. Those bulbs divide every year or so pretty much indefinitely, outlasting all of us and showing up in unexpected places. It's mostly our cultivation that causes them to go blind and stop blooming, cutting off their leaves before the plant has stored enough food for the winter. Each time they show back up it's a little bit of relief that we haven't ruined one more thing with our impatience.