Behold pleopeltis polypodioides, the resurrection fern. When so much in the wintry South is barren and brittle, this resurrection fern in my parents' backyard is supple and manifold. Looking at it makes me wonder...What does it mean to return to the same thing year after year? Minute after minute? Authorities on the mind take a pretty bland stance on the idea of obsessions. But where do our obsessions come from, really?