The moss on the trail marker today

I found a patch of moss growing right where the old trail marker used to be—soft, green, and pressing up through the rusted iron. I didn’t replace it. The path’s been shifting anyway, eroding in places where the rain pools. I stood there for a minute, just watching how it held the light like something alive. It wasn’t damage. It was a kind of repair. Sometimes the forest remembers better than we do.