So much exists there, from soaring curlews to scurrying voles; life finds a way to survive in the wet and cold. They are the organisms we can easily see though: what about the tiny, microscopic stuff living within the sphagnum? How much life exists beneath our feet? The answer… a shed load!

From a human perspective, blanket bogs can seem pretty flat, especially without tall trees leading our eyes from the earth to the skies and giving height to the landscape. However, they are incredibly varied and complex on the microscopic scale. The undulating hummocks of sphagnum may seem small to us (and the curlews), but from the perspective of the myriad insects and microbes that inhabit them, it must feel like the Himalayan mountain range – some hummocks can be 1m tall! From the saturated ground below to the mighty heights of the domed sphagnum hummocks, this huge variation in structure is the stage for just as much of the life and drama that exists at larger scales.

The temperature and wetness from the top of a sphagnum hummock and its interior can differ greatly. The top outer surface exposed to the elements is battered by the wind every day, wicking away the water sphagnum so desperately tries to cling to, turning it crispy. On a sunny day, with no taller plants to cast shade, the top of a sphagnum hummock can become increasingly hot and inhospitable, the sun driving off the water within the moss cells and drying them out. Only tough, hard bodied spiders and beetles can survive the scorching heat as they quickly scurry over a hummock's surface in search of food and potential mates. Here, the sphagnum hummock becomes a desert, a hostile Martian landscape only tougher skinned species can survive.

Plunge your hand deep into a hummock’s interior and the temperature plummets. This drop in temperature helps sphagnum hold onto precious water, creating a cool, damp and more environmentally stable home that softer bodied organisms can survive in. Within this interior it is a dark tangle of slowly rotting sphagnum strands, creating a web-like maze to inhabit. Predatory water bears (tardigrades) lurk around every corner, preying on humble algae-munching rotifers going about their daily business (piercing the cell walls of moss and algae to suck out their contents like a rather disgusting milkshake). Intense neighbourly battles for the perfect nesting spot are fought day and night between families of acrobatic springtails struggling through the tangled mess.

Within 1 gram of moss, hundreds of thousands of these organisms can survive and flourish. A complex, intricate and diverse food-web exists completely hidden away deep within the kaleidoscopic hummocks. I feel it is our duty to give this microscopic world the time and interest it deserves – we shouldn’t omit it from thought and discussion but bring it to the forefront of our understanding of the world. Learning about the microscopic and scaling our thoughts to the more tangible world we live in may provide insights we may never have thought about previously. So, I think it’s time to get on our knees and rummage through the vegetation, to take time to think about what worlds exist under our feet and to appreciate the small stuff.