Hunting Season

Moss is luminous. Trees and rocks are cloaked in babyfine green. The forest is soggy and dark, but the whole world glows. Like sunlight through a million fringed emeralds.

I went with friends to hunt toothed hedgehogs and winter chanterelles. The anticipation of wild mushroom bruschetta seduced me as I swam through the thick tangle of ferns, lichen, river rock, and fallen old growths.



Licorice fern crunched sweet between my teeth as I combed the dense underbrush. Sedums umbrellaed a lush microforest of mosses, Candy Flower, and dainty Mist Maidens, not yet blooming. Moist and fleshy Cat's Tongue licked from every downed trunk, while the pearled luster of snail shells shimmered in the downy leaf litter.



The crystal snow melt of Brice Creek roared beside me, drowning bird songs and footsteps. American Dippers hopped and bobbed on the sodden bank. Diving below the rushing water to eat dragonfly nymphs from the rocky bottom, the tiny grey birds can see underwater and still their bodies against the unrelenting icy flow.




Magic is all around and I am learning to see.