Photo by Reason A. Poteet, US

"White moss" Photographed at Hull's Cove, near Cadillac Mountain

 

Memories of White Moss

 

After making the trip to Bar Harbor in Maine,
we set off on excursions within that domain.
In the midst of events, aggravating, arcane,
we welcome white moss.


We begin with a most unpredictable task—
touring Cadillac Mountain with fog as a mask.
Fifteen hundred feet high and sh-shaking, we ask,
"now, where is the bus?"


Safely back at sea level, we all need to chill—
"Tell me, who put the rest stop on top of a hill?"
Giving vent to our steam, we release it with skill,
creating a fuss.


So we cuss as we scurry, we snort and stampede
up the fifty-two steps to attend to our need.
On the zig-zag descent, rather tetchy, still teed,
we stumble across—


a botanical gem - symbiotic, we learn.
A bizarre kind of growth, some avoid, others spurn.
Is it algae? or lichen? a fungus? or fern?
true whatsis for us.


I see fanciful lace mid inherent decay;
I see whimsical bubbles entangled in play.
I see moods change as wonder reverses dismay.
an insight from moss.