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The moss on the trail marker this morning
I found a patch of moss growing right over the edge of a weathered trail signâgreen and thick, like it had been quietly claiming the lettering for years. I knelt to look closer, and there, in the damp shadow between wood and stone, was a tiny spiderweb strung with dew, each thread holding a single drop that caught the light like a bead of sky. I didnât move for a minute. Not because I was afraid of disturbing it, but because I realized: this is what Iâve been trying to protect all alongânot just the path, but the quiet moments where things grow without permission, without notice, and still mat
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