This morning’s walk led me to a tiny world I could’ve easily stepped over, a tree stump hosting a cluster of fungi and a handful of brave little seedlings. They’re small, almost unnoticeable at first glance, but the longer I looked, the more it felt like I was staring at an emerging forest in miniature. Caps curled like shelves, crumbs of mycelium dusted the bark, and delicate leaves reached out from crevices that used to be rings of growth, life building on what life left behind.
I photographed them in black and white to lean into the textures, the chalky surfaces of the fungi, the velvet grit of the stump, the soft sheen of new leaves. Color would have been pleasant, but removing it let the scene breathe in contrast, the pale domes against the dark substrate, the serrated seedling edges glowing like tiny ferns in moonlight. I nudged the highlights up and pressed the blacks down to deepen that sense of quiet drama, letting the organisms pop without losing the softness that makes them feel young.
What fascinates me is how complete this micro-ecosystem already is. The stump offers shelter and nutrients, fungi break down what remains, and the seedlings borrow that gift to begin again. It’s a humble cycle happening at ankle height, yet it mirrors the larger forests we admire from afar. You don’t always need a mountain trail to see nature at work, sometimes a fallen trunk is enough.
Moments like this remind me why I keep walking with a camera, to find small stories doing big things. Today, the forest was measured in inches, not acres, and that was more than enough.
”To see in color is a delight for the eye, but to see in black and white is delight for the soul.”
Sending you some Ecency curation votes!
Thank you so much for the support.
Nice find! An ecosystem spruce on its own