The forest has been so filled with morning
mist lately, as the frequent, welcome rains dampen the soft pliant ground, the
pine needles and humus almost crimson.
So many fungi awaken this time of year;
beautiful medicinal mounds of Maitake, Chanterelle, Chicken of the Woods, all
bright colors or iridescent, sprouting up in their perfect ecosystems.
The crickets fill the woods also, singing
to each other, as the light slowly comes, and with it the birds begin to call
and sing.
This morning there is a bit of energy, so
I push and push up the mountain, feeling the warm burn in my thighs, as we
round each turn of overhanging branches, trees, undergrowth.
After a rain, the land is very much like
when we have snow, revealing who went where and did what, when, last night.
We come upon a small opening to someone's
burrow, where a Coyote defecated! Upon the entryway! I hunker down to look,
Dante examining, sniffing, then looking about, but knowing that they are long
gone. I take a stick and fling the poop elsewhere, laughing to myself.
As he tosses me his ball, as we round the
bend, and head up further along the quiet pungent range.
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