A Lyrical Vignette: Mushrooms

We were out on a walk when he told me he wants to grow his own mushrooms, told me we eat them often enough that it would make sense to have our own logs.  I want fresh mushrooms, he said, not those bulk mushrooms at the grocery store.  His words took root in me, in the same way inspiring works of art sometimes do.  I imagined baby mushrooms growing and spreading, and I imagined his beautiful artist’s hands harvesting them, then slicing them with his favorite Japanese knife.  I imagined him arranging them like art on a plate, then adding them to a savory soup that would taste like earth’s magic on our tongues.  He was still speaking when I spied mushrooms sprouting up along the uneven trunk of a tree, reaching up towards a sky that had become the muted pastel hue of evening.  I thought of saying something but opted for silence.  The moment had become a quiet treasure: his hand holding onto mine, the wintry air playfully smacking my cheeks, and his voice sharing one of many dreams from his own secret mushroom garden.    


2 thoughts on “A Lyrical Vignette: Mushrooms

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s