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Gary S. and Son

Poem and Photograph submitted and copyrighted © 2001 by Gary S.


One very lucky son with a great father

It seemed so real,
the still spring air is cool and our spirits are soaring as the sleeping woods are awakening to a fresh spring.
We are wearing flannels and jeans and our pockets are stuffed with knit bags.
My son wander seemingly aimlessly from hillside to brook.
We notice the Red Bud and Dog Wood in bloom.
We stare at the fallen leaves and branches and our eyes became blurred with foliage as our minds think Morels.

Then comes the flurry of excuses,
the woods is just not ready yet or it was a dry winter you know.
My son would soon pick up a stick and launch it at a tree.
For a fleeting moment he was an Indian with a tomahawk and the tree a bear.
I would say that there is more woods to see, and he would sit on a log and say how about a shake and burger.
Suddenly like a bolt of lightening, the eye spots a morel and then another and the smell of morels.

The one tells the other
about what he sees and then says, it's not pretend.
We put our bags to use and fill our hearts.
Now look who is sitting on the log and who is saying Dad, It's not even ten o'clock yet.
I would not trade these walks in the woods for all the money in the world.

---- Gary S.

(aka DGBAY)

The following poem was submitted by Deborah G. A. from Indiana. (not my wife Deb)
She wrote it in 2001, describing the end of the season.  Copyrighted ©2001 Deborah G. A.


I went back to the hill
Where I had found the most
I stood there real still
By my marking post

Two days before
I had picked with hope
Now there were no more
On that once yielding slope

I knew the end was here
My forehead wrinkled in discontent
I was so prepared with all my mushroom gear
But no more morels would most likely be sent

I wanted to cry
It ended so quickly
I breathed a big sigh
And sat down on a prickly

Now my disappointment
Changed to pain
And as I thought about miracle ointment
It began to rain

Walking out to go home
Thoughts flowing in my head
I put together this poem
And looked up and said

("Twas really a great year,
The number was pretty good")
And I was comforted to hear
That my mind understood

So...I'll be back
I'll wait for next season to begin
Dig out my mesh sack
And return with a grin

                                 ----- © 2001 Deborah G. A.

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