a sealed ecosystem
Moisture clings to curved walls. Each droplet a lens inverting, miniaturizing the world within. The terrarium breathes in slow, invisible cycles. Water rises, condenses, falls. A closed loop of quiet persistence.
The quietest colonizer. It needs no roots, no soil, no permission. It finds surfaces the world forgot and makes them green. A millimeter of growth per week. A century to cover a stone.
Below the green: darkness rich with meaning. Decomposing matter, mineral fragments, the slow chemistry of transformation. Everything above depends on this invisible architecture of decay and renewal.
At the deepest level, rhizoids thread through darkness. Not true roots, but anchoring filaments that connect moss to substrate, colony to colony, through mycorrhizal networks older than memory.
sealed ecosystem — no input, no output, only cycles
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