head

* * *

I was at McNally's Polo Park store, having sent my last phone-pic from the afternoon book chat, and realized that I had nothing until 5:30 when I had to pick up Aa from the nice hippy lady that takes care of her twice a week.

I mean, I could have gone home and sliced and diced the video I'd just taken of Rebecca Rosenblum, but...

So I pointed the car in the direction of Assiniboine Forest, who I'd been missing.

I didn't have any water with me and the mosquitoes were amused by my festival-going clothes, but the sun was full and hot and I had fresh batteries in my camera.

Yippee!

The mushrooms were plentiful, even if most of them were gilled mushrooms growing up amidst the mulch paths or in the grassy bits just to one side of the mulch paths (which doesn't always make for the best photos, but...).

I scared a woman with five or six dogs, emerging from the side of the path (she told me I scared her AND her dogs. Twice.) but I didn't much care, as she had five or six dogs off leash and that made me doubt her generally.

Towards the end of my walk, unable to resist anymore, I started picking some gilled
things, bundling them into my vest and holding it awkwardly (and guiltily) at my side.

After a few hundred meters, I came across one of the stations where you can grab a plastic bag (ostensibly for poop) and so I was able to haul fungus in a more casual way.

I've been making spore prints pretty regularly since Sage Hill and the forest has been obliging of late. For paper, I've been ripping pages out of my favourite books of poetry.

Which mostly means twice the guilt, but...I'm compelled to do it and I try to always follow my compulsions and never my guilt.