🌲 The Green That Refused to Leave
I spent some extra time with Mother Nature this week. It’s frightening sometimes how much you can need something so deeply and not realize it until you return to it. Roaming the wilderness can give you a feeling that no screen could ever replicate. It reminds you how resilient our world truly is — and how resilient we have to be if it’s going to stand a chance of going on.
Every fallen leaf I saw still held its last bit of green. Mushrooms stood strong even on dying stumps. Moss pushed through cracks in the concrete, defying the frost that clung to the ground. So underestimated, so rarely thought of — and yet, fungi and moss don’t fight for space. They find it. No pressure on others, no competition — just a quiet desire to share their gifts with the world.
Even in a season where everything seems to fall apart, they quietly begin again. 🍂
🍄 Les Leçons des Champignons
No one begins again better than fungi. One thing about them— they never waste. What others might see as trash or useless, they take and give new life, new purpose. Fungi believe in never-ending cycles. They recycle, they reconnect, they teach the importance of togetherness when everything else feels lost.
They’re an integral part of the plant world, and when parts of that world die, they don’t forget them — they honor them, decomposing the dead and turning them into nourishment for the living.
Honnêtement, I learned so much about fungi this week — not just from research, but from reflection. One thing I want to carry forward is their way of metabolizing what appears to be broken. We could learn so much from that.
No matter how fragmented things may seem, they’re never really broken. They simply have a new purpose — it’s only broken if we allow it to be. Fungi don’t mourn fallen trees; they turn them into homes. One person’s rest, “failure,” or letting go can fuel another’s growth. I’ve witnessed it firsthand — in relationships, in work, in family. It’s rarely easy, but it’s often exactly what allows for the strongest growth. 🌿
🗿 The Soft Power of Moss
And then there’s moss — la mousse — one of the strongest and most resilient plants in the natural world. Moss has ancient wisdom. It’s a soil creator, a water holder, a quiet protector. It may not have roots, but it nurtures those around it.
It grows where almost nothing else will — in deserts, caves, cracks in driveways. These gentle builders turn stone to soil and stay to cradle the next generation. Even when other plants mature and no longer need its help, moss remains — absorbing water, preventing erosion, and releasing it slowly back to the ecosystem.
Don’t let its softness fool you. Soft does not mean weak. Moss reminds me daily that you don’t have to be loud to make a difference. 🌱
I’ve allowed moss’s lessons to shape my work with LRC — to remind me that I don’t have to be the most visible to have impact. At the end of the day, it’s often the quiet ones who keep things alive while no one’s watching. Whether you’re a gardener, a coal miner, or a writer, your work has meaning, even if no one ever sees it.
Sometimes resilience is as small as staying green on a cold wall. 🍃
♻️ What We Can Learn
Alors, mes cœurs, I implore you — see the beauty in these little healers. They are more than what meets the eye. Their lessons are endless, but here are a few to begin with:
· Compost your emotions. Reflect, release, repurpose — don’t waste them, chères.
· Find your shade spaces. Give yourself permission to rest where it’s quiet. You deserve it.
· Stay porous. Absorb what nourishes you. Let joy in. Don’t deny it, and don’t deny yourself.
Regeneration isn’t loud work — it’s the whisper between endings and beginnings. 🍂
🍁 Les joyaux entre les ruines
« Dans les ruines, la vie murmure encore.
Les mousses s’accrochent aux pierres froides,
les champignons transforment l’ombre en promesse. 🍄
Même la perte porte des graines.
Rien n’est vraiment fini —
tout se transforme, petit à petit. » 🌿