We didn't watch last night's presidential candidate performances so we wouldn't feel like proverbial mushrooms ourselves, "kept in the dark with people shoveling manure on us.". I'm not a mycologist, nor, to my knowledge, do I know any experts at mushroom identification, so today we'll just settle for photos from this morning. All were taken along the driveway or within 75 yards or so of it. It's enough to convince me that Mr. Weber has correctly called September, especially since I think I may have missed a few examples. When I think of 'shrooms, my biases run toward morels and Spring. I'll be more open-minded from hence forward.
[Note: hummingbirds continue to arrive at our feeder although Jim Gilbert informs us this is the time when Baltimore Orioles head South.)
The Mushroom is the Elf of Plants - (1350)
By Emily Dickinson
The Mushroom is the Elf of Plants -At Evening, it is notAt Morning, in a Truffled HutIt stops upon a SpotAs if it tarried alwaysAnd yet it’s whole CareerIs shorter than a Snake’s Delay -And fleeter than a Tare -’Tis Vegetation’s Juggler -The Germ of Alibi -Doth like a Bubble antedateAnd like a Bubble, hie -I feel as if the Grass was pleasedTo have it intermit -This surreptitious ScionOf Summer’s circumspect.Had Nature any supple FaceOr could she one contemn -Had Nature an Apostate -That Mushroom - it is Him!
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