Climate and other outdoor factors converge and create a landscape where mushrooms rarely thrive. When they do, I’m always fascinated by the fungal structures that peek from the suburban landscape before shriveling up and disappearing again.
dormant spores
– bardo
lurking
hiding
biding
hidden in cool crevices
desiccated
down among nooks of decay
undaunted by days of
dark
arid
chill
but a reprieve
water
rain
moisture
soaking the soil
lingering showers
thoroughly wetting
nooks and crevices
calling
waking
beckoning
caps to peek into the sun
a moment
a day
brief appearances
reminders that
dormant is not dead
only waiting for
chance opportunity
and spring rains.
I am not a poet, but a friend has inspired me to read more of it and think more critically about its place in the constellation of my creative pursuits. Occasionally, Iād like to post a poem here when inspiration strikes.