Mercy

I was collecting morels just as the sun was going down and the light was exquisite. On my knees, on a foam pad, looking closely at a piece of local terrain, I noticed a small pile of leaves poked oddly upward. The light made everything clear, it was a morel, trying to clear the litter. I marked the spot with a stick, I'll harvest that particular mushroom tomorrow, when it's had a chance to fill out. If the deer don't get it first. Pretty sure the deer are eating my morels. That old crow is perched nearby, the same one, I can tell, because a drop of sap has glued some feathers into an identifiable mohawk; he questions my intent. An answer clogs in my throat and I cough. A butterfly flaps it's wings in Argentina. I would like to think these events are not connected, but it seems they are. I can accept that, something I didn't believe being possible; but when I got up, a few minutes later, the light played off a transparent bud and there was a perfect prism. Who is allowed what? Because I stop and look I'm allowed these sights, if you don't, there's nothing there, beneath the radar, it didn't happen. I deny with the best of them, I could deny you exist, given the right venue, but I choose to believe there is a world we share. It's an elegant moment, when I mark a mushroom I'll harvest tomorrow. Not wings and arrows, but a concrete thing, locked in place. I may not be making sense but at least I'm writing. I come in off my scrum, my interface with nature, get a drink, roll a smoke, consider what I've seen, is it more or less real? It doesn't matter. I acknowledge the world. Fuck me, I sound like Thoreau, playing games. Wittgenstein suggesting what was meant. Merely blowing the flute and listening for harmonics. We were out back, having a smoke, and this toothless lady walked up, asking where the doctor's office was. I had no clue what she was talking about, but D knew enough to direct her in a certain direction, and I watched the whole exchange as if it was a movie. He repeated himself, over and over, until she got the point. I don't have the patience. I'd rather mop. A thousand pages in, I begin to get the point, what is being said. Thank god I live alone, that my ex told me to go away, I'm not fit company, she was right, correct, what I needed was a cave, where there were only shadows. What I notice, spring and fall, is this light. I can't describe it, it reveals things, a magical happening, and I don't buy this shit, the subtle shifts, still, I am transfixed, the way mushrooms emerge. I needed to confuse you as I am confused.