The morel of the story

Always, always: garden of my agony, your body elusive always, the blood of your veins in my mouth, your mouth already lightless for my death. "Gacela of Unforeseen love" Federico Garcia Lorca, Translated by W.S. Merwin

Loved this quote from my wicked morning yesterday.
The work week has been short with the extra day off and suddenly it is garbage day and tomorrow is my Friday. Sweet! Still no word on the exact date of the move to the VCC, waiting ever so patiently.

Have taken a break from writing and feel sad about it, so probably will find something to work on and immerse self in besides assisting with a Senior report. Bereft; I love that word and it's fitting, my life without writing or characters in my head. Since November I have gotten accustomed to writing from 8-10 am and then started adding to the time as needed. So now I'm fully trained and find it hard to step back, but I'm doing it for a minute or so.

Morel hunting

I went mushroom hunting, for morels this past Sunday and have bruises from a stunt. The tree let me down and not gently either. Picture this; there is a beautiful mushroom that lays beyond a tree, in a copse, heavily surrounded by other trees and bushes. The mushroom buried ever so slightly in leaves and forest debris, but I can see it and I can smell it. In front of me is a large limb, branching out from a tree at stomach height. There is no other way in; besides crawling and yeah, not going to crawl through the bramble with the echoes of "careful for ticks, they are bad this season," ringing in my head from Karen at Sportland earlier in the morning.

I carefully lay my stomach on the thick branch that rises alongside and above this area about three feet and delicately balance myself on my stomach to lean out to grab the mushroom. Suspended in the air. Feet floating behind me and arms in front as I stretch and reach for the mushroom just beyond my fingertips. I imagine I might look like I'm a gymnast on uneven bars, ever so carefully I redistribute my weight so that I can lower my top half closer to the mushroom.

The limb cracks and breaks and drops me to the ground, flat. "Oof" I say then start giggling then move on to laughing.

Number 61 is behind me still betraying me for extra credit and starts laughing too. "What the hell are you doing? Are you okay?"  

As I was dropped closer to the mushroom, and a majority of the tree is no longer in the way, I rise to my knees' brushing myself off and pick the mushroom. "Yes," laughing I reply, "I'm okay, just could not reach it without going that route".

Number 61 was told by one of his teachers that if he went mushroom hunting he could bring them in for extra credit. WRONG in so many ways! My secret location, raided for prized mushrooms and turned into a teacher for extra credit.