A mushroom has popped up in violet #1. The surprise of it makes me think of frogs and faeries. While I know a fungal spore made its way through processing, to Lowe’s, to potted plant in my living room, it’s more fun to imagine wee people hidden in the walls of the house who only come out when the humans and the cats and dogs are asleep.

One of the wee folk mounted a mighty frog who hopped onto the coffee table, where the faerie intentionally planted the spore several weeks ago. He’s waiting for me to take a nap so he can come back this afternoon to harvest it for Sunday dinner, much to his family’s delight. He noticed the mushroom yesterday, but left it to ripen overnight. Leaving it is a risk he weighed, knowing that if I saw it I might uproot it and whisk it to the trash, ruined and forever lost.

Worse, I might pop it in my mouth like the greedy bastard I am. While totally delicious and completely safe, he’s counting on my mushroom ignorance to prompt me to leave it alone. On the off chance that I’ll snatch it up and eat it, he’s sprinkled it with his version of pesticide, a concoction that, if I were to ingest it, would either make me violently ill or send me on a two-day psychedelic trip. He knows that if I eat this particular mushroom it’s wasted, but he hopes I’m capable of learning from my mistakes and that I’ll leave his horticultural efforts alone in the future.

I wish he’d just come out and introduce himself. I’d love to meet him! But why would he? He’s perfectly happy living in the walls and between the ceiling and the floor with his life-partner and their children from previous marriages.