The Green Persistence

Velvet skin on granite bones, it drinks the mist that wanders by, a slow green tide that never ebbs, filling the cracks where the light forgets to go.

No roots that dive for hidden wells, just tiny hands that hold the rain, weaving a carpet for the beetle’s tread, a soft defiance against the winter’s bite.

It keeps the secrets of the stones, the ancient breath of damp and shade, blooming in silence while the world rushes on, patient as the mountain, older than the path.