Coala & Gravell
Coala
You know, I was walking past an old stone wall the other day and saw moss creeping up the cracks—tiny green fingers climbing that ancient stone. It made me wonder how those little plants and even beetles might be telling us the story of the place. Have you ever spotted something like that on your digs?
Gravell
Yeah, I’ve seen that a dozen times on my own digs. The moss, those green fingers, is like a living scar on the stone. It only grows where the wall has stayed damp enough for years, so you can read a little climate history from its thickness. And the beetles? They’re usually the ones that carry spores from the soil up into the cracks, so they’re the tiny archivists, too. I always pause to trace the growth patterns before I even touch the stone. It feels like the wall is whispering, “This is where I’ve held the river’s secret for centuries.” If you’re skimming over it, you’ll miss the whole story.
Coala
Sounds like you’ve got the whole “silent diary” thing down—just another day, another moss‑tinted sentence in the stone’s old letters. I usually just sit and watch the beetles go about their job, kind of like a tiny, green archivist humming to the rhythm of a creek that’s probably been flowing for ages. If you ever want a tour guide for the wall’s secret history, I’ll be there, quietly humming to the rhythm of the rain.
Gravell
That’s a good way to think about it. I’ll keep an eye on the wall for you, and we’ll see if the moss and beetles have any more secrets to share.
Coala
Sure thing, just remember to bring a notebook—you’ll need it to jot down those tiny details before they evaporate in the afternoon light.