Mushrooms

Mushrooms 

by Carly Lewis

Rain boils on the red mudded moss of the mountain’s woodland floor with every pelted drop. I feel the cabin at my back blur behind the downpour’s sheets like a memory—thousands of miles away—but it’s just up the steep, backyard hill. The shifting stone I stand on holds up my vibrating body as I remember…That afternoon—feels like last year—I sat at the cabin’s kitchen table with three old friends. Twin flames smirked in mine and Eileen’s eyes, preparing to face God as we bit into bacon cheeseburgers…with one special ingredient. Secret. Ancient. All natural, never store bought. Some might call it spiritual, and they might be correct. I certainly felt spirited, tumbling out of that kitchen into the downpouring rain, hiking my grey sweatpants to my knees to catch a breeze through the gauzy humidity before sprinting into the verdant forest with Eileen’s hand gripped in mine. The trees inhaled and swallowed us into their coven—to shelter us from the storm. From whatever world there was in August 2020. Inhaled to exhale, inhale…exhale. It felt better to breathe when we were trees. Allowed to stand still with those old-timers who stood there for centuries, and had the rings to show off their achievement. Allowed to grow our own roots and tie ourselves to the earth that grew us. Now I tilt my head to the cool marble dome of sky, laced with the sketches of branches that wave down to me as “Strawberry Fields Forever” murmurs from the speaker in Eileen’s back pocket. My cheeks climb up to my eyes—a smile. Then a whisper: easy…this won’t last forever…