Like the summer-shaved head of a small boy, moss calls me to scrub my hand over its surprising stubble softness, to soothe my seriousness with its velvety tickle.
Today, I restrain myself. The moss blooms! Its stringy, goofy flowers nod their burgundy heads to one another, wave, giggle and delight in the day.
I wonder whether Dr. Suess studied moss flowers, too.