The woods are alive with the smell of mushrooms

Down in the woods today there were dead mens' fingers, cramp balls and ping pong bats (extra) not to mention all sorts of regular gill and pore fungi including this massive cep (Boletus edulis) which made a delicious starter, gently fried with garlic, olive oil and butter.


FROM THE GARDEN, WITH A MUSHROOM by Ian Macmillan

What I recall is this; it was autumn,
And there had been an eclipse during which
I stood with my dad in the garden

And we watched as the street grew darker
Than it should have, than it ever did.
Now it was at least one day later

And my dad walked in with a mushroom
That had illustrated the lawn’s green canvas
Since the eclipse turned the sky’s tone
A dirty colour. He passed the mushroom over.

It felt like the skin of someone who lived
In a place where no light gleamed. Whatever
I write now, all these long years after
Can never describe the mushroom’s scent

As I held it to my nose: earth and water,
And freshness, beauty. I held it to my lips
And bit it, much to my dad’s horror.
It tasted like the stillness of a fading eclipse.