When the rains come and come again, as they have recently, the mushrooms follow. One day I look at a spot, and there's nothing there. The next day – swoosh! – there's an outcropping.
So it is in a swath of mosses I cultivate between the back of the house and Big Momma's Garden. This verdant spot of various mosses, which greens up dramatically in the wet season, is punctuated (literally) by fungusses.
This one came in a clever guise. It seems familiar. Maybe it's some movie character I've seen, or it could be from a childhood fairytale. Whatever, as it breaks the soil, it delivers wonder and a smile. And, always the question: friend or invader?
In any case, mushrooms, fungi, fungusses, serve a useful purpose; their surprising presence calls attention to my need to groom my mosses. At the same time, their sudden appearances remind me that no matter how much I try to keep the moss patch neat, clean and pristine, just beneath the surface grows something that demands to be seen.