"Heaving the Needles"

Mushrooms

Overnight, very
Whitely, discreetly,
Very quietly

Our toes, our noses
Take hold on the loam,
Acquire the air.

Nobody sees us,
Stops us, betrays us;

The small grains make room.
Soft fists insist on
Heaving the needles,

The leafy bedding,
Even the paving.
Our hammers, our rams,

Earless and eyeless,
Perfectly voiceless,
Widen the crannies,

Shoulder through holes. We
Diet on water,
On crumbs of shadow,

Bland-mannered, asking
Little or nothing.
So many of us!

So many of us!
We are shelves, we are
Tables, we are meek,

We are edible,
Nudgers and shovers
In spite of ourselves.

Our kind multiplies:
We shall by morning
Inherit the earth.
Our foot’s in the door. 

~ Sylvia Plath

Jeff and I enjoyed a short autumn hike in the green space near our home. I like the images of mushrooms presented in this poem by Sylvia Plath.

I am reading a book by Timothy Egan which won the National Book Award in 2006 called: The Worst Hard Time: The Untold Story of Those Who Survived The Great American Dustbowl. 

Egan spent years driving around the Southern Plains of the US researching and interviewing the remaining survivors of the1930's dust bowl years. It's a fascinating if terrifying read about what happens when humans abuse nature. It reminds me of the devastation created by the millions of acres burned in the west by the wildfires this summer and autumn. 

Our air quality has been fairly good, although winds from the south are expected to bring smoke from the California wildfires into the region over the next few days.

I can't even comment on Trump and COVID craziness happening now. A work of fiction based on 2020 would be scoffed at by readers as being made up and so unlikely to be real.

Thanks for your recent comments, stars, and faves for my blips, I will try to get back in the blip groove.