make bad art for the love of the game now!

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Feather moss

2026-04-11, 120 words, backlink: journal/echo/01

Some pairings are meant to be. Peanut butter and chocolate, coffee and croissants, weed and stump stomp (111). The pathetic squish of pure feather moss underfoot reminds me of soggy cereal left to soak too long. There are no pines here to lend their needles, no satisfying crunch with every bootfall.

Instead, competing monocultures coat the ground each night, invading through cracks and covering paths like creeping charlie in a time-lapse. Serrated rake-shovels keep them at bay, but spork warriors (217) can only do so much. You can't hold back the tide (173).

Most of the old-growth forests are gone, sun starved, but I brought a few cones with me. The moss won, but maybe in 20 years these feathered towertops (184) will crunch.