The big
oaks in front catch the morning sunlight on their southern face, warming the
bark on this cold morning for an hour or so until the angle shifts enough so
that they are cast in shadow.
Up
close, their bark is deeply furrowed and patchy with bits of deep green moss
that looks like miniature forests seen from above.
Standing
nearby with the sun on my back, the absence of wind made it seem warmer than
the air temperature, and it was easy to imagine the moss as verdant forests
upon some gray landscape seen from high above.
Next to
one large group of moss, a lightning beetle sat immobile, its body wedged
within a deeper furrow so that the moss canopy partially shielded its carapace.
I leaned in and breathed warm air on it, encouraging its antennae to respond in
flicking about slowly to the energy-giving warmth.
Several
breaths and the beetle began to move slowly away, and whether it was due to the
warmth or something other in my breath I don’t know.
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