Who would think of making a plant that pokes above ground in a tightly curled spiral disc, and then slowly unfurls its “fiddlehead” like a lithe yogi changing poses, arching into a fern finale of feathery fronds?
What trickster had the idea of vines that sense the nearest vertical surface, grow their way toward it and produce sucker pads that cling like claws so that the ivy can cover whole buildings with coppery olive leaves?
Strange to imagine the hidden, underground root-tangle below Lilies of the Valley spiking up by the hundreds, on their way to becoming dark curved shelters for fragile strands of tiny white perfume cups.
How can acid-green moss, composed of thousands of miniscule hairs, become a soft cushy carpet, neither woven nor cultivated?
What the hell-ebore was the idea, giving that lush, tropical- looking plant with smoky pink flowers the guts to bloom in the coldest early Spring, even before yellow daffodils?
Whose plan would include a three inch chipmunk, heart beating warmly beneath February’s ice and snow, so that a sweet stripy face hops out ready for play in May?
Wasps that can drill perfectly round holes into wooden planks?
Birds who painlessly whack their small beaky heads into tree trunks, mining insects for food?