Moss

Joined a writing workshop where we did 5 free-writing exercises.

Moss

You're like moss. Slow, intricate, and important in ways I might die not understanding. In that I have no idea, beyond their manifest beauty, sponge-like intrigue... how to articulate any illusion of comprehension about their classically defined purpose, dependences. And if I don't tame the moss in this way, as if I ever could, will it become less free, soft, resilient. Will it love life any less if I don't know its cell structure. Or will it again and again convert light to breath for me, and vibrate when I look its way. We sit in different kingdoms, you see. There's no longer any fear that would need to make us the same. And so we sit abidingly quite often as the unnamable regenerates, allows, moves through the seasons in the forest we share. Two different kingdoms, a nice photo all the same.