The Magic of Moss


One of the many stone walls in the woods at the farm’s edge.

There’s magic in moss. Perhaps it’s how it appears totally lifeless & then, suddenly, with one rainshower, rich shades of green signal revival, rejuvenation, resurrection, resurgence. Delicate tendrils sprawl, revealing feathery sprouts & verdant tendrils. Like a spell cast by the rain.

A moss-clad remnant of an old tree.

Or, perhaps, it’s the way that moss grows on lifeless, inanimate things. As if it’s saying, “Don’t worry. I’ll make you beautiful.” Life finds balance with dead or lifeless features, rocks or rotting wood. Nature’s cosmetic.

The different greens weave a tapestry over the stone wall.

A spider of an old trunk is punctuated with a pop of green, thanks to the moss living on it.

It could be the way it can surreptitiously peek out from curves or grooves, ever so carefully hugging edges, dulling them. Even old stone or ceramic pieces can find moss slowly encircling them, snaking its way around.

There’s something fantastical even. Old castles show their age & mystical aura when moss creeps up their stony walls & wooden drawbridges. The below image from “Pride & Prejudice” creates a mythic idyll, a sylvan scene where one half expects to see a satyr or nymph.

From the film “Pride & Prejudice.”

Maybe the visual softness & texture moss adds to hard objects mitigates what could appear formidable, unyielding. Or, maybe it’s the allusion to magical beings, fairies & sprites, so often & long linked to these miniature plants. There’s something otherworldly, a biosphere in miniature.

A gargoyle subtly accented by moss.

A walk in the forest.

Whatever the reason, moss soothes me. Even visually. I imagine its softness, moisture, its rich woodsy fragrance. My senses cling to the memory of moss when I can’t venture into nature, & it calms the noise of my mind.

2 thoughts on “The Magic of Moss

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