MUSHROOM AND OTHER

                 

The first part of the small journey brought us along the far perimeter of the forest. There, a pathway mostly unused had a tree covering that blocked out the majority of the sun. Yet, some rays found their way through and down this leafy roof akin to the way certain snowflakes did in winter or in the manner wetness announced itself when it rained. These parts of sun, shards of light, kissed trunks or the tops of mushrooms, the old wire fence with the wooden posts, and other. Something scurried in the distance, possibly a squirrel, but all in all there was only the path and the drops of sun.

   

            It is outside of there and afterwards, a pathway having led up and up and up, perhaps two or three stories, but patiently and on a long half kilometre or more rise, that the open fields waited. A fox runs off cutting across the distant corner, to the left, after having glanced back so briefly. The tall tree grows and it is covered with leaves and vines, an energy emanating from its self, a pure way, and the tree, old, tall, observing the flaxen fields and the rains that come visit the little hills and crevices, the wild grapes that hide under their own bushes as if keeping a secret, possibly the secret of themselves, from something.

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