Moss

This is a poem I wrote back in early September while living in the woods.

Moss

How finely you grow,

Living on tree’s bark,

Creeping, covering,

Silken strands,

So thin and fragile,

Like the web of a spider,

At the microscopic level.

But pull back,

And the woods are filled

With plush carpet,

Inches thick,

Millions of strands,

Interwoven by nature.

Connected, alive, growing

Higher, deeper, longer,

Vast.

Hanging off every limb,

Dancing in the wind,

Creating shapes,

Leaving shadows

That haunt the imagination.

Plush,

Absorbing sound

and sinking feet.

Overwhelming.

Overpowering.

Reflections of green,

Craving water and sun

Breathing silence.

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