Summer was generous with everything but sleep. It lingered long and tenaciously but has finally been replaced by fall. Falling temperatures, rainfall, the fall of night ever earlier. Spoiled with warmth this year, I was shocked by how cold it was this morning. There was no warning, no day in August where the wind had a chill it hadn’t had in months. Then Monday I woke up with an urgent intuition: it is time to knit a pair of charcoal gray socks.
I took two nice walks in the woods last week before the weather changed. Magic mushrooms abound, run of the mill ones too – from small to extra large. If I were a real or wannabee shaman, I could have gathered many a beautiful specimen of fly agaric (Amanita muscaria).
How is it that I never broke down the compound word “toadstool” into its two component words until this week? A toadstool may or may not refer to a poisonous mushroom. In most cases it does not refer to a place where a toad sits.
The brown frog spied in the grass was not interested in the abundant fungus, nor was she deterred by the presence of humans. She simply kept hopping along toward her goal.
What else will fall bring? Two laceweight scarves and a slate gray pullover? Middlemarch and the first two volumes of Dorothy Richardson’s little known novel Pilgrimage? Hamburg, Maribor, and perhaps Passau? Time will tell; and patience is indeed a virtue. But now it is time to get back to those charcoal gray socks.
Enjoy the fall and whatever fungus it has to offer!