Some kind of puff-ball fungus or shroom? I’m guessing? But I have no idea what kind. Some kind of magical being of the forest, no doubt.
It rained today. A lot. All day. Big fat cold rain that splattered the windows and dampened the dog and made the mud slosh my galoshes.
I had fully planned to go for a hike today, to walk these woods and get to know them and speak the names of newts on the back of my tongue and whisper soft to the moss.
Instead, I mostly sat inside and watched the fire and wrote words that I didn’t know I could write. There is fat chinook salmon in the stove and dark beer in the glass and more wood for the fire. The rain and night and the words fall like stars from the mouths of gods.
Far and fast, s.