Early in the morning my mom sings to me Lorelei, the Irish folk lullaby she used to sing––
on down the line from my Irish-Catholic, 33rd and 3rd grandmother, now living free and dying in the granite state New Hampshire––
who sang to women and their divinity and powers teaching them spells of nurturing and baby-bearing and growing life.
She eats oatmeal early in the morning.

The paper birch is home to chaga mushrooms, if I remember correctly.
Interconnected communities that thrive within the ever sacred forest. Secret societies of life and fruit and system and equity. The mushrooms grow from ruin and death to create medicine, food, poison. The BAIN OF ANYTHING. Why bain? Why so vain? How come I hadn’t known the forest’s majesty? I am so in love! SO IN LOVE! Ferns of moisture. Turkey tail: a shag carpet on logs. The reishi calls to us! A sign? The puffball that we couldn’t find is watching us. Consciousness is existence.

7/01/2020
Inspired by Geof Hewitt's virtual summer writing workshop "Words in the Woods."