Gentle and patient and quiet.

Mushroom hunting season has begun. Little shriveled nuggets hide under leaves and nestled in weeds. They are there. At my spots, it is nearly time. I went to check yesterday.

Mushroom hunting is quiet work. It is delicate and patient. Low to the ground, careful with every step, every step deliberate and unobtrusive. Squatting low to the ground, holding breath while scanning the lower world. The organic world. The world that is sweet with fresh growth and tangy from the dead leaves melting into soil. The world that doesn't give a fig for the things happening above it.

Tromping through the patch like a clod, I dream up the perfect mushroom hunter. The mushroom hunter, the perfect mushroom hunter has dainty feet like a deer and a long neck to stoop to see the ground. She (of course, she)is close to the ground, spotting the absence of light where the mushrooms are. She knows where there is no light, there is food.

People usually come to the valley to hunt mushrooms. They are not from here. They rough up the dirt. They take every mushroom they can find and sell them to other people who are not from here. This year, we get to collect and store for ourselves. With luck, we will have jars for winter once the mushrooms have dried.

Today is not my lucky day. I find one. There are quite a few more but they are young and not ready. After the rain coming later in the week, we will hunt again, gentle and patient.

I like gentle and patient and quiet. Right now many of us have this opportunity to be gentle and patient and quiet. Maybe in that first cup of coffee or reading a book in bed before sleep. Maybe in mushroom hunting or reading poetry.

Here’s a poem by Neil Gaiman. It’s called “The Mushroom Hunters.” I hope you enjoy it.