Moss Keeper

In corners where light forgets to reach, the moss unfurls its patient green— a small revolution against silence, threading through stone's indifference.

It asks nothing of the sun, content with dampness, with shadow, the way a prayer needs no answer to settle into the heart.

I have learned this from watching— how softness outlasts hardness, how the smallest things hold the world in their impossible quiet.

The moss knows something we rush past: that growth is not always visible, that beauty lives in the forgotten, in the spaces between what matters.