November

Dark pools, and uncertain moats make for constant stalling, stopping and considering. Two or three startled strides and I am standing on a tussock of grass half-floating over a deepening, black, watery chasm to the lake below. Its very quiet here. There is no cell service to break the silence; there are no mountains in the distance nor flowing creeks to determine a relative position. It rained a lot last night and the vegetation still holds onto what seems like all of it as I go to wipe the accumulated pools of water off my jacket. Its early November and the leaves on the spiraea are turning.The sky above shows a crisp blue that the balm of summer cannot sufficiently praise. Kneeling down towards the tussock edge, I am greeted by a sweeping chromatic spectrum of sphagnum moss. my gaze is then quickly apprehended as I focus in on a certain capitulum with a conspicuous terminal bud. Assessing fascicle grouping and branch structure, I put the individual back remembering its name - Sphagnum teres. Its getting dark and the fog is beginning to set in so I start my way back. Several years ago these same steps carried me over diversity of species which at one time was a confounding captivation. Each step now through this landscape passes me over countless hours of taxonomy and microscopy that gave me comprehension, yet retained a glow of confusion so that I keep coming back.