I collected this moss on an evening walk
in the rain
through the forest I most love.
Autumn colors so vibrant,
leaves soaking wet.
So similar to a walk I took two years ago
in these woods.
So much stays the same here.
So much changes in the world outside.
I need to go back to the forest —
Deeply overcast day. Perfect for making tiny worlds inside worlds with rich green moss, fresh from the forest.
Terrariums: my interest in these little jars of life seems somehow tied up with my recent questions over work and our future. It is as if I can let myself imagine a series of different worlds — each completely contained. While my fingers are occupied with tiny bits of moss and lichen, I sift through possibilities in my mind and envision a half-a-dozen different paths. How can I be simultaneously so centered and so utterly unsure?
(From a piece I wrote in January 2015, before we knew that little Wallace would be joining our family.)
It comes in waves.
That feeling —
hard to pin down at first.
And then it shows its face,
as if peeking around a corner:
As if every thought is insignificant
and yet also too precious to
put into words.
Balancing on the edge
of the top shelf,
just out of reach
and uncomfortably close