I drove home yesterday at lunch -- to my house; I stop by every other day to pick up the mail and make it look like someone is at home -- and spent a few minutes walking around the backup in my driveway where, every year, I harvest a small crop of morel mushrooms that seem to thrive in the gravelly margins.
No 'shrooms yet. We've had a lot of rain, but not, apparently, the proper mix of rain and warm weather to pop the morels.
Oh, well.
In the meantime, here is a a poem about mushrooms.
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