A friend likes the woods best this way, saying that she could walk and look, and walk and look, imagining all the fibers she could spin and dye.
It is not the time I like woods best. I miss color in bloom and bug.
But on occasion, I make more-than-do when I notice fungi catching the few rays of sun between a succession of gray days. Like cooling butterscotch, one colony slides up the slab of a fallen trunk, while another fallen limb sports green turkey tails luxuriating on lime moss.
Then I fall to ground to take a closer look. And then, the woods aren't quite so brown and spring returns to my step.
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