I've been thinking a lot about moss. How it grows so small and tiny in out-of-the-way places or right there under your feet, and no one pays any attention to it. How the tiniest tendrils look like miniature ferns, spreading out across damp wood or stone or earth.
How moss is almost a doorway to the innermost world. There is beauty below us, and no one ever looks.
I had a dream last night that I covered the walls of my library nook (where I currently sit) with moss. I left the wallpaper half-torn away, and covered the plaster with moss, which grew and grew until my nook was more of a burrow with a bay window. And it was quite fabulous.
I rather like the botanical name for moss--Bryophyta.
I have lots of plans ahead that have to do with moss... and other hidden things.
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