moss

The sunlight squeezing its way through the forest canopy, the silence interrupted only by the sound of rushing water or birds flitting about seeking insects, so many shades of soothing green and earthy brown, the scent of wet cedar, and a cool moistness in the air — a world of its own.

On a recent walk in the forest, carrying my camera to record the silent beauty, I was particularly interested in all the mosses. The mosses flourish with their presence on nearly every structure — rocks, ledges, trees, fallen trees and stumps. Did you know that mosses are crucial to the trees in the forest? I’ve learned they’re vital in regulating water within the ecosystem by slowly absorbing and releasing rainfall while keeping nutrients in place. Imagine this: they provide shelter for small mammals, such as mice and shrew, while also being a food source for spiders, insects, and microscopic organisms. It’s a reminder that beautiful, useful things, can grow in quiet, darkened places.

The mosses I’ve photographed are epiphytes, meaning they don’t harm the trees they are growing on. The base of trees provide a natural trellis for the moss, but the moss derives all its nutrients from the air and rain — not from the tree itself. Since mosses only have root-like threads called rhizoids (and not actual roots), in summer mosses can completely dry out. I thought this meant they die and new ones grow — wrong. They’re able to survive by lowering their metabolism until the rains return to re-hydrate the green cushions. Kind of like hibernation isn’t it?

“There is an ancient conversation going on between mosses and rocks, poetry to be sure. About light and shadow and the drift of continents. This is what has been called the “dialect of moss on stone – an interface of immensity and minute ness, of past and present, softness and hardness, stillness and vibrancy, yin and yan.” — Robin Wall Kimmerer, Gathering Moss: A Natural and Cultural History of Mosses

Moss, a poem by Bruce Guernsey

How must it be 
to be moss, 
that slipcover of rocks?— 
imagine, 

greening in the dark, 
longing for north, 
the silence 
of birds gone south. 

How does moss do it, 
all day 
in a dank place 
and never a cough?— 

a wet dust 
where light fails, 
where the chisel 
cut the name. 

This little two-hour foray into the forest truly could be considered forest bathing, though it has remained in my mind about how we take so many things around us for granted, especially that which Nature provides for us and an entire ecosystem.

Wishing you a week ahead, perhaps fitting in some forest bathing, a walk in a park or even along a country road. If you do get out into nature, please tell me about it — I’ll be waiting.

I’ve made two videos from a couple of my recent forays into the forest. If you’re interested here is the first one I created (I’m teaching myself to make simple videos during the pandemic.)