For as long as I can remember I have loved mosses and lichens and all the locations where they are to be found. As a boy much of the days and evenings were spent tramping over miles of moorland, climbing over old drystane dykes, squelching through marsh and bog, or walking into and through woods and pine forests. In all of these places I became aware of this lovely green stuff, and how it slowly and gently covers stone and wood, a natural and beautiful form of organic upholstery.
Over these months we have taken to walking in the woods, some of them on our doorstep, others further afield, though not too far. Several are old forests, planted in the 19th Century, and in all that time trees have grown, seeded, and fallen;they have shed their leaves and needles year on year, until the forest floor feels like the best Axminster carpets. For those who might not have heard of Axminster, in this age of convenience laminated floor covering, allow them to introduce themselves:
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These woods and forests are old, maybe some of them as old as Axminster, and they are the perfect environment for mosses and lichens to flourish. What I've noticed, and once you notice it you start seeing it often, is the way moss inhabits and enfolds old tree stumps. It's almost as if the tree having gone, there's now space and enough residual organic nutrition to entertain those plants that don't need much of anything other than some hospitable living room, some occasional light, and the nearness of water.
What I've found fascinating is the capacity of moss to fill in the spaces, to cover the nakedness of rocks, and to upholster tree trunks and roots. When Jesus said the meek would inherit the earth, I know he wasn't thinking of the flora of the North East of Scotland. Nor was he making oblique references to bryology or lichenology. But the word that comes to mind when I look at, walk on, or step over, moss, is a word like meek. As Jesus used the word reported in the Gospels, the two English words used most often to translate it are meek, and gentle. There's nothing showy, loud or attention grabbing about moss. But once you notice it, you begin to see it, and it becomes part of the background pleasure of what we see.
Take this tree stump for instance. It's old, broken and all that remains of a tree long gone. But its sharp points and jagged outlines are gentled by slowly encroaching mosses, providing a new habitat for who knows how many wee beasties and other living things.
Behind it is an ancient drystane dyke, and all around it the softening lines of moss covered stones, and alongside it a young holly tree. A dead tree stump is an encourager of life, sculptured by the years and clothed in shades of living green.
The meek shall inherit the earth. Those who gently intrude into places of little promise, and make them live again. Those whose presence makes possible new environments and living spaces and possibilities. Those who provide background colour and cover, texture and tone. Moss is a miracle of the mundane, a sacrament of life's patient persistence, a parable of change and decay in the cycle and circle of life. The moss covered rock is an interface of ancient geology and transient plant forms. The tree stump slowly clothed with moss bears testimony to what used to be, and what is now becoming. Moss is a specialist in slow, an understatement, but a true statement, of life finding ways to downsize and survive.
There have been times when walking in the woods and coming across old moss-covered tree stumps, familiar melancholic words have resurfaced: "Change and decay in all around I see, O Thou who changest not abide with me.." I know. Life's hard enough just now without humming funereal tunes. But actually I don't find those words depressing, or melancholic. They simply say what is. Change and decay are built into life, all of life, and each life. The Creator and giver of life transcends transience, and is both Light and Life.
The moss covered tree stump is simply a reminder that we live in the temporary now. When I see the modest beauty of life at the later stages in such a photo, the deeper instinct is to trust the abiding presence of the One who calls us to live in the temporary now with an eye on the eternal Now. The mystery of our existence is beyond our fathoming; but the mundane miracle of moss is at least a reminder that our life is rooted and grounded in Love beyond our knowing.
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