Fungal Foray

Flourishing baroque, wood smoke
And the warmth from this ancient hearth.
Grateful mouthfuls of hot tea
Bathe my journeying spirit
in consolatory sanctuary.
Fresh bites, has this winters afternoon
Ravaged my itching skin?
A joy to witness a deep, damp forest lit
With praeternatural strokes
of perpetual twilight.
When days break is days end
And all shadows equal all light.
What a blissful night this will be.
A fungi foray with the midnight ecologist,
Simon P. Silocybin is planned for today.
How utterly penniless and futile am I
Oh wise and generous hearth;
How privileged I am
To merely be.