What a delightful day! Bitter, raw, cold enough to freeze your marrow. The wind, a so-called “lazy wind,” doesn’t bother taking the scenic route around you; it simply chooses the direct route, right through your very being.
Upon Coate Moor, amidst a gap in the trees, a view up Kildale. The young trees hereabouts, mostly rowan although I reckon this is an oak, are festooned with a luxuriant lichen. I think it’s Evernia prunastri, known to the French as Mousse de Chêne, aligning with our own common name of oak-moss.
Oakmoss proves rather finicky, sensitive to ammonia and other nitrogen compounds, steering clear of locales tainted by agricultural enrichment or traffic fumes. It is thriving here above the 300-metre elevation mark, conspicuously absent though as I descended through the woods.
Beyond the realms of nature, this particular lichen finds itself useful in the realms of perfumery and cosmetics. A fixative agent, ensuring a lengthened shelf-life for scents and creams.
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