The mulberries are going away. The raspberries have passed their peak season. The blackberry bush, however, can no more contain its secrets: those small reddish heads rush and thrust to pop out, like thirteen years old girls with lipsticks, impatiently and prematurely to claim, "It is our time now!" But the wild grapes seem to know better that they still have to wait a while longer: they preserve their green fruits carefully behind their broad leaves. In nature, nothing lives forever, yet nothing really dies: in the dying of the old, there is always something new coming. And thus nature itself lives on. Indeed, from the moment when life emerged from non-living things (creativity begins), the universe has fundamentally changed: life struggles to overcome death through creativity. We humans, as late comers in the universe, have so much to understand about the universe and have been so slow in understanding it. When Newton discovered the laws of motion and gravity watching an apple fall in the garden, and Einstein spelled out Relativity connecting Maxwell's equation on light speed with Max Planck's constant about energy quanta, we had only gotten to know the non-living part of the universe. But the universe is so profound, dynamic and interesting perhaps mostly because of the living things, yet we know so little about this living part (including ourselves). Therefore, we lump everything that we don't understand to a single word "complexity." Then, even in this sense, we have every reason to believe the science of complexity should hold a central place in all sciences now and in the future: isn't understanding how the world works the very aspiration and ultimate goal of science?
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