One of my favorite things about the garden is tree bark. I love its texture, its color.
I also love the way it hosts mosses, algae, and lichen. It's like a garden itself, in miniature. A landscape all its own.
Or maybe it's a colossal storm, a hurricane of wood:
Or a series of canyons, as if mighty ancient rivers once flowed here, hewing a path now dry:
Or perhaps it's geologic strata, a history of the Earth itself:
Could it be mimicking the planet's crust, with tectonic forces pushing up a new Rocky range, or Andes, or even an Everest?
Or a record of a civilization long gone, whose probing wells left the depths devoid of riches, the surface dotted with pits:
I imagine it could be any of those things.
Tree bark, so wonderful.
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The world up close often does seem like a replica of the bigger world. Glad to know I'm not the only one who has had that thought!
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