Calling up the field fungi
Summer stretches on into October as with the early tinting of autumn leaves only just beginning. Now three weeks since the swallows and house martins left for Africa the ground still feels dry. The day's slowly grow shorter since the equinox yet each day beginning with a heavy dew fall soon becomes quite warm with clear skies, very little wind and sunshine each day. Along with the salmon and sea trout mycologists hope for rain. Soon frosts will be here and the mushroom season could be short and unfruitful. Taking to the fields across from where I live each day I go to walk the dog, assessing any changes underfoot. Green woodpeckers and jays call out as we survey the hills and mounds nearby. Feeling the mycelium beneath my feet, pregnant with possibility the feel me there. Stretching out beneath me the mass of dendite strands that are the subsurface part of the organism feel me too, reacting to the disturbed debris made by each step. Entering congress I chant and sing to the earth, calling up the psylocibin, the mushrooms that are the fruiting body. This pause in the year feels pregnant. Like a red Indiana dancing for rain I hope to call it on. This year of change has been so extreme that culturally and spiritually the people are in a quandary. We need the entheogens. We need advice from the field fungi.
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