moss

We awoke to a shining sun in a gleaming blue sky; a rare sight for British Columbians in winter. My three-year-old son and I decided to go for a hike, and he suggested a nearby waterfall. I forgot how rejuvenating the forest is. To walk among trees, permanent and calm, soaked in verdant spongy cloaks of moss. To crouch beside a clear stream and sift the gravel, picking out stones. To hear water streaming over a cliff, gurgling under the footbridge.

I forgot to bring the camera, and at that moment I wanted to record it forever. Then I remembered a time before social media, before digital cameras, when we relied on our memories for this sort of thing. My son’s gold-rimmed silhouette as he dug with a toy shovel in the stream, the sun blinding me through the trees, the heart-shaped hole in a dead lightning-struck trunk. The trees with gnarly finger-like roots overwhelming mossy spoiling logs. We were in paradise. Sunshine. Where was everyone else in this city? We had this beautiful spot to ourselves.

We did gather some moss and planted it on our rock wall in the yard. I also had a short moment of inspiration and made a few planters out of these insulators I’ve had since summer.

 

 

0 Responses

  1. Love the planters!

  2. loulou downtown

    Very pretty. You described your experience at the stream so well that I could almost see it myself!

  3. I love those. Nice job – simple, green, lovely.

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