Last week I took a walk down my street. I looked down and saw a growth of moss on the pavement. I passed it by. A few steps later I saw another tiny circle of green. I stopped. What was going on here?
What was happening exactly? Was I noticing the moss for the first time, or was this something new? New and nature don’t really go together. The Earth’s been doing it’s regular thing a long time. What I notice, is what’s new.
I took a few steps back and picked up both pieces. They weren’t attached to the ground. They weren’t sprouts. They weren’t from here, they were, actually, new. My walk was officially postponed.
There’s a length of grass and dirt adjacent to the road. I found a few more pieces of tiny, fluffy green. I picked them up.
The only way I could see what was in front of me was to get close. I crouched down and got within a foot of the ground. I’m sure I looked curious, but I am a curious kind of guy. The pieces of moss were strewn in an approximate ten-foot area.
From what I could conclude from a large indentation in the ground, a branch must have fallen here recently. It was gone now, but these growths must have come off during the violence of the drop, and removal.
I made four visits to this area in two days, to collect all I could. I had a plan, because I’m a planning kind of guy. These pieces, newly dead, would make perfect scale trees for my model photographic scenes.
The moss growths are in a dish, drying out now. Five tiny ants have emerged and I’ve relocated those creatures into some potted grass and fresh soil. My attention is back on the moss. The moss’s life has ended in one way and is starting another.