Night Watch at the Spore Ring

Darkness settled heavy along the weathered fence line. Behind the dried onion skin and clear glass shield, the white spore ring lay undisturbed beneath the widened mushroom cap. Silence. The cloudy green marble gleamed pale from its acorn cup, and the snail shell hung motionless on the trip line. I stepped into the shadowed hollow where the cedar board met the damp soil. Slowly, I sat down against the dark timber, planting both boots firmly into the moss. I unhooked my axe and laid its flat haft across my knees. A slow tilt of my head. Motionless, I watched into the black yard.