Foliage Fantasy

Day 208: The forest floor (not necessarily flat or horizonally aligned) is a vast canvas of textures. At a single glance, the eye takes in a wealth of features, so many that our minds resist classifying them individually. But closer investigation reveals fascinating microtopographies and ecologies: mats of moss harbouring moisture for the roots of vascular plants which in turn provide the shade and protection the moss requires, tiny open spaces inviting seeds to fall to hidden soil, niches in which insects may hide or, relatively speaking, go on great adventures, travelling for dozens of bug-miles on a single plant. How vast is the universe when you are a beetle the size of a pencil-point? What do insects feel beneath their toes as they explore the minute scales which form every fractal iteration of a step-moss frond? What differences do they detect when patrolling a leathery leaf as opposed to one covered in fine hairs invisible to the naked human eye? How tired is a snail after it has climbed an 18" log, plagued by anxiety (or not) for what may lie at the summit? Do these tiny beings of the forest know that they are part of the much larger landscape of world, planet and galaxy? Of course not. And neither, my friends, can we know our place in the universe with any greater certainty than does the beetle or the snail.