Wandering in the woods looking for morals is synonymous to the halcyon days of the past except with a purpose. Head lowered, eyes fixed on the ground searching for recognizable dark silhouettes and egg like shapes, aware of each step taken, leaves crunching beneath feet. Mushroom wanderlust is like dead-panning for small bits of gold, foraging for the great meaning of spring. I found her with a few relatives surrounded by trillium next to a downed log, like an old friend from the past coming to visit. And I rewarded her with a pound of butter. Out of the water and into the woods, but only for a day or two.
© 2010 Mark Ringlever
