We wondered, when we first walked the trails here below the Little Sandy Bald,
if the blocks of quartz we saw every three or four steps,
pebble size to boulder size, clear and rosy and cloudy,
held rubies or emeralds inside,
or sapphires, the fancy forms of quartz.
Walking on jewels; we still are.
Quartz with veins.
Most fungal entities are brief,
pop through the soil for a week
then begin immediately to decay.
Lichen shelf.
But some harden and settle in for the long term.
And become habitats themselves.
New variety.
90º around the trunk,
slipped sidewards in time
comes a fresh beginning.
Ooze of birth.
The Jain swish the path before their steps
to insure they don’t crush a bug.
I’m less moved by bugs, but hate to find I’ve crushed one of these.
Just looks phallic.
Or a family of these.
Loam cardinals.
Or even one of these.
Just one.
Not this.
Member of extended family.
Not these.
Spore bomb.
Or this one.
Just one of these, a hole to breathe or blow.
The parent organisms live underground,
safe from my steps,
busy being the synapses between tree roots
powering the internet of trees.
Really: this is fresh-made science.
Be thankful God does not spend all his time deciding softball games
and litigating kidney stones.