Moss

There used to be the most magnificent moss patch out by the one of the live oaks in the backyard. As a child, I would sit on one of the tree roots and run my fingers over the bright-to-dark green patches. Sometimes, I would lay down next to it on my stomach and get as close as I could to observe the tiny little “trees” that made up the “moss forest.”

I was convinced that if you zoomed in enough, a smaller, and equally intricate, ecosystem could be observed inside the moss. I thought about while we may be able to physically observe this, most of it existed in a sort of imaginative realm. Fractals.

While it’s been a minute since I’ve gotten on the ground with my face mere inches from moss, I regularly stop on walks to run my fingers through the shaggy — or tight-knit — greens.

Curiosity. Contemplative childhood.