Like spores on the wind

Before a fungi ever fruits, she develops a complex web of mycelium below the ground. Silky tendrils extend a tentative greeting toward twisted tree roots, nature’s outstretched fingers of creation. She grows thicker, more entangled, connected - developing unseen, but not unheard. Her music inaudible to naked ears but to her ecosystem? A chorus of chemical messages is communicating, sensing, adapting. Forest consciousness.

When she’s ready, conditions ripe, she will fruit. A glorious burst of color and texture, she unfirls her skirts and petticoat like a lady trying to avoid the mud. Here she rests for a moment, dew moistened face gazing towards the dappled sun. The breath of the forest, held in awe of her beauty, at last exhales.

A soft breathy kiss, the wind caresses her. Millions of spores released into a cloud of conception. Where will they settle? Unchartered territory: fertile fields, pine duff covered clay, sandy slopes. Like microscopic explorers, her offspring forge ahead into the abyss.

Alone and disconnected from Mother Mycelium, somehow life carries on. New neural networks of tendrils, growing beneath the moss-covered earth, reach out for connection and community. Perhaps some day they will expand enough to return to Mother, contributing to a greater forest consciousness.

Settle little spore. Root and reach out to others. Find community and growth. Above all, strive to reconnect.