I’m spending a lot of time with my face very close to moist ground. That’s where the mosses and liverworts live. I’m trying not to let the thought of ticks stop me, and while I often end up with wet clothes from getting so close, leaning on wet logs and kneeling in mud, it’s worth it. Neither my eyes nor my camera are quite up to the task, but it’s still thrilling to caress tiny, fuzzy leaves, admire sculptural, vase-shaped capsules, or find the delicate, watery stalks of sporophytes where there were none yesterday. Bryophytes are very “we”, growing through and over one another, heaped and tangled. How does that feel, I wonder. Drama and mystery abound at every scale.