Okay, so what she means is that when you have a stable basic thing-a tree trunk, for example-an intricate system of branches and leaves can sprout off from that, and still more intricate leaves and flowers and fruit can sprout off from the branches.'Evolution is the vehicle of intricacy,' she says.We're thinking Steve Jobs would have something to say about that, but we digress.

Why God would get so detailed with the creations rather than just roughing them in is the great mystery of the universe-after all, stuff doesn't need to look pretty, it just needs to work.

Here's her basic definition: Intricacy is decoration over nothingness.

She can't deal with the enormity of the question of how it all started, so she's decided to concern herself with how it all works.

(She's going to assume for this chapter that there's a creator.) No individual tree or fish or water bug is crucial to the world or its creator.

The more Dillard thinks about the Roanoke Valley, the more she realizes nature is gratuitous.

In other words, stuff is made of other, infinitely smaller stuff.

Chloroplasts, magnesium atoms, nuclei, subatomic particles, neutrinos, etc.

The fact that she and Ellery both have red blood cells leads to a lengthy contemplation of the nature of time and of, well, nature.

We're sure it's no surprise that she's staring intently at its tail, contemplating its circulatory system.

You may recall that Dillard has a goldfish named Ellery Channing.It's also the last chapter of the via positiva section. Chapter 8 is aptly named-it's probably the most intricate one in the book so far.

Pilgrim at tinker creek