These are tiny little plants--you have to practically lie down to take their picture. I had to look them up--I can never remember all the spring flowers. These are creepers that are found in bogs--how perfect is that for a description.
I saw lots of bunchberries trailing along into the mossy carpet that extends off of the boardwalk into the woods. I said to myself in a singsong voice "Pretty little bunchberries trailing in the woods." That reminded me of what my father used to say, a remnant of the days when he and my mother had goat farms and small children. When my mother would come in carrying pails of goat milk, after milking, he'd say "Pretty little milkmaid, jiggling her jugs." We had a tray with a hand-painted scene of my mother carrying pails down a path, given to them by a friend who painted it. All part of family lore.
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