May 29, 2008

On Mushrooms, Toadstools, and Truffles

By Emily Dickenson

The mushroom is the elf of plants,
At evening it is not;
At morning in a truffled hut
It stops upon a spot
As if it tarried always;
And yet its whole career
Is shorter than a snake's delay,
And fleeter than a tare.
'Tis vegetation's juggler,
The germ of alibi;
Doth like a bubble antedate,
And like a bubble hie.
I feel as if the grass were pleased
To have it intermit;
The surreptitious scion
Of summer's circumspect.
Had nature any outcast face,
Could she a son condemn,
Had nature an Iscariot,
That mushroom,--it is him.

Mushroom Mania is alive and well in the Realm of the Roses. For more information, please see the following sites:
The Caledon Wiki
The Proceedings of the Royal Society

Happy Hunting!