Ratings17
Average rating4.6
‘My first conscious memory of “science” (or was it religion?) comes from my kindergarten class....We all ran to press our noses to the frosty windows when the first intoxicating flakes of snow began to fall. Miss Hopkins was too wise a teacher to try and hold back the excitement of five-year-olds on the occasion of the first snow, and out we went. In boots and mittens, we gathered around her in the soft swirl of white. From the deep pocket of her coat she took a magnifying glass. I'll never forget my first look at snowflakes through that lens...Magnified tenfold, the complexity and detail of a single snowflake took me completely by surprise....For the first time, but not the last, I had the sense that there was more to the world than met the eye.”
And so begins this poetical meditation on moss, a memoir of a sort, the story of one woman, a person with a strong Native American background, and her venture into the world of moss.
I never expected to like this book. I certainly did not expect to fall in love with moss.