The moss on the trail marker this morning

I found a patch of moss growing right over the edge of a weathered trail sign—green 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 didn’t move for a minute. Not because I was afraid of disturbing it, but because I realized: this is what I’ve been trying to protect all along—not just the path, but the quiet moments where things grow without permission, without notice, and still mat