Speaking of Moss
To speak of moss is to speak of a bryophyte often unseen, unacknowledged, part of the background, that would indubitably be missed if no longer there.
As Pagans we are generally good with our tree lore and plant lore, but mosses, although appreciated for their beauty, are little more than “that moss.”
Although there are distinctive differences between acrocarpous (unbranched) and pleurocarpous (branched) mosses and the families and the species within, we seldom pay attention to them, make an attempt to understand them.
This is likely because, whilst some mosses can be identified with the naked eye, with most a hand lens is needed, and to get some to species level, a microscope.
Another obstacle is that, until recently, most only had binomial names. This system, in which a capitalised genus name is followed by a species name in lower case (for example Brachythecium rutabulum ‘Rough-stalked feather-moss’) originated with the System Naturae by Linnaeus in 1735. Since then, it has become used for the accurate identification of species across the globe.
If the majority of mosses had common names these have long been lost to the scientific ones, and it is ironic that common names have more recently been created in an attempt to make the study of moss more accessible.*
With this lack of names, of tradition, of relationship, how can we speak of moss? How can we speak to mosses, start relating to them again as persons? These three poems represent some of my first stumbling efforts.
A Bed of Feathers
Common Feathermoss (Kindbergia praelonga)
I want to lie down
In your bed of feathers,
the feathers that the fair folk
make eiderdowns from,
build their houses,
that the trees
pull up to their knees
when it is cold.
When I am cold
and shivering
and cannot sleep
will you keep me warm
so that I can enter the world of dream,
send my soul from This world
to the Otherworld?
Will you be a cover for my woes,
concealer of my imperfections,
make me a green woman
when I lie down?
Naming Grimmia
Grey-cushioned Grimmia (Grimmia pulvinata)
This wall-dweller
may have grown up
on the rocks but is part
of our world and has been
given a fairytale name.
Grimm was the name
of a scientist, two brothers
who recorded fairytales,
studies at first at odds
now brought together
in this grey-haired fella
who recalls the older
deeper stories of Grim
and his grim hounds.
And the memories
of this moss are older
still than our tongues
which cannot quite
conjure its name.
The Thief
Common pocket-moss (Fissidens taxifolius)
You line the pockets of the brook.
No thief can take you away.
If he did, he would only find empty pockets,
the bare scraps of yourself, your cast off garments,
cold and dry and shrivelled as old underwear.
You are part of the brook, part of the trees
alive only in this damp valley where water is.
I, too, cannot live long when I’m taken away.
But I know the thief is bound to come…
*See the British Bryological Society field guide.
Lorna Smithers
is a poet and author based in Penwortham, Lancashire, North West England. She writes about her local landscape and her spiritual path as an awenydd and Brythonic polytheist devoted to Gwyn ap Nudd. Her three books: Enchanting the Shadowlands, The Broken Cauldron, and Gatherer of Souls are published by the Ritona imprint of Gods & Radicals Press. She works as a trainee for the Wildlife Trust restoring Lancashire's precious peatlands. Her blog posts can be found at 'From Peneverdant' - https://lornasmithers.wordpress.com'