Little Moss

Little Moss was lonely.

It tried talking to trees. They didn’t feel the need to pay any attention, since it was far below them. It tried talking to insects. The beetles were too busy surviving, and the fire ants simply had no thoughts of their own.

One day a tiny seed got carried by the wind and took root. ‘Hello?’, Moss asked tentatively ‘Is it morning already? Why is it still so dark?’, wondered the seedling. Little Moss couldn’t contain its excitement. ‘Hello, I am Moss! And who are you?’, it fumbled. The seedling chuckled. ‘I am Willow.’

From this day onwards, they were inseparable. Moss would keep the grass from growing over Willow’s roots. Willow would bend down, so they could talk. One day Willow said: ‘I will protect you forever, you know. I will keep the sun from burning you, when I grow up.’, it announced proudly. ‘I know you love the shade.’ Little Moss felt touched. It didn’t bother to clarify that the sun never made it through the high treetops above them anyway.

Willow started to grow sicker every day. It simply did not get enough light, its energy waning. Still, it had made a promise. It would grow big.

Winter came. It happened to be the coldest in years, the ice freezing deep into the ground. This winter did not mean to protect. It meant to kill. And Willow was weak. Its branches froze to their core and with every night, it died a little bit more inside. Finally, it could not speak anymore.

Spring came. Little Moss looked up at the dead fingers, until they became brittle and got stolen by the birds. Then it started to cry. It cried through days and nights, lamenting its lost friend, that had been reduced to nothing but a few roots in the ground.

The trees had other worries. The danger came sneakily, like a whisper. First it was one, then two and then a thousand. The bark beetles had entered the forest. It was carnage. Helplessly slaughtered, hollowed from the inside, trees fell like dominos. The beetles died soon after killing their food source. Little Moss shed more tears than it should, now being fully exposed to the light.

It buried the fallen trees, but there was only so much it could do, living among the dead. Resting above Willow’s roots, the scorching sun burned its skin off in patches. The beautiful dark green turned brown and dry, soon it was more dead than alive. Reduced to nothing but spores, it fell into a deep slumber.

It may have been days, months, or even years, until a voice broke through the silence and peaceful shade covered the earth. ‘Hello?’, the voice asked. ‘Are you okay?’ As little moss glanced up, it could see thin long branches looking down. A large tree covered the clearing, surrounded by ferns and bushes.

‘Hello, I am Willow.’, the tree explained. ‘Hello, I am Moss.’, Little Moss answered. ‘I was waiting for you.’