Header image by Anne McHugh.
Once you find fungi in profusion
some of us go postal
Pick buckets
to hump out-of-forest
Sometimes we kneel
by our baskets & go all
woo woo
Sitting solo in the guru duff
deep in forest bathing
Chanting to lichen & bearded spruce
grasses damp in the monsoon shadows
under Sheep Mountain’s
alternating blue & gray skies of
high-altitude rays
& Chac’s light-handed rain
Other times
pure pothunters
consumed by our private rituals
in the find & flush of discovery
we cut just enough caps for dinner
meticulously wielding knife & brush
to help spread the spores
If you do
kneel to field clean
darned if you don’t start
shifting into mushroom eyes
catching waves of Funga’s auras
humming secrets about
everything-you-wanted-to-know
