The prevalence of moss in England can be showcased quite easily, simply by stepping out of one’s door. Chances are it will be inhabiting the bricks to your house, the window sills, the ground on your drive, the stone wall of your property, the tree branches, the rocks, your garden sculptures…perhaps even your cat, depending on how long he’s been lying out there. Given enough time, moss will inevitably creep over everything. Some people see this as a nuisance, and will actively remove the invasive greenery, prying it off, scrubbing it away, ripping it out (as I’ve seen by the completely moss-free walls in front of one house, while the neighbouring wall will be dotted with fuzz); others, myself included, revel in the beauty, the free flowing spread, which will blanket any available surface.
Spring back to your current state
A verdant tangle
When I walk past moss I have the uncontrollable urge to touch it. True, perhaps not the most sanitary thing to do, but it is quite satisfactory to press down into the spongey goodness and watch it spring back up. England is shadow-y, and rainy & damp: perfect conditions for moss to flourish. There is never any shortage for indulging my obsession.
A habitat of minuscule proportions.
The green moss thrives,
Clinging to the cold base:
Spreading, forming, engulfing
Until little else remains
But the spongy hills
The pinpoints of life.
Listen To: Cosmo Sheldrake – The Moss