My typical dog-walking route passes by the site of a rotting tree stump. It had been one of a long row of street trees--perhaps a red maple--cut years ago. The stump was not very large or in any other way special. But a year ago, after passing it many times, I was suddenly struck by the way the patches of moss that grew on it made a kind of miniature landscape. I knelt and took a few photos.
That was a year ago. Since then I have photographed the same square foot of moss, grass, bark, and the odd mushroom at different times of year and in different weather and light. I came to call these photos "stumpscapes." I probably worried the occasional neighbor who saw me. But probably not many, since most already knew I was a little odd.
The results seem to me to be mostly to be mountain landscapes and lush alpine meadows. Some are chilly and severe. A few scenes with mushrooms look like something from a 50s science fiction movie.
On today's walk I felt a little disoriented: a patch of fresh earth marked the place the stump had been. Of course, it was a city tree, and it would have been unreasonable to assume it would simply be allowed to quietly rot away indefinitely. Probably a nearby property owner complained of the appearance. I'm a bit sad, but also glad I took the photos when I had the chance.