Mycelium is One Explanation or The Ballad of Jacques Carruther

I happened, on my way back home,
To stop in for a sip,
And on the way back out again
I took a longer trip.

The time was later than was right
To leave my Jenny home,
But man’s a man and loves to drink
Dark beer with heavy foam.

I had a few, not one or two,
But really not that much,
Then paid the tab and took a stab
At dice, but lost the touch.

Well, now I drempt that I, by Jen,
Would be so sorely missed,
Though honestly, it seemed to me
Instead she’d just be pissed.

I thought then, to prolong my grief,
And ventured for a walk
Along the field of new mown hay
To smell the shortened stalks.

The moon, by now, had risen high
And sat astride the bull,
And in her light I caught a sight!
The tale I’ll tell in full.

His breast was bare and in his hair
Some maple leaves had he
That looked just as the moose’s crown,
Or so it seemed to me.

His ears came to a little point,
A beard was on his chin;
Mousey fur wrapped his loins,
Supported by a pin.

His hair was gray, his beard was frayed
And holding in his hand,
Some holly on an ashen twig
To conjure up the band.

He took his little witch’s wand
thrice whirled the wand around
And Pop! the others joined him there,
As if sprung from the ground.

They came right out and sat about
The toad stools in the lane,
Which only seem to happen up
In seasons with strong rain.

“Hail Oberon,” said one fair elf,
Whose hair was flax and reed,
And hopped upon a bug-eyed toad,
To spur it as her steed.

On after thought, I recognized
This fair and courteous sprite,
Titania, Oberon’s wife,
Who shared in his delight.

Three times she hopped around the ring
And raised her voice in song
“Let’s make this lane our dancing place
Tonight we’ll here belong.

As not above nor down below
Is there a home for us,
For not Our Father nor His foe
Affords us with their trust.”

Then few produced some instruments,
Together they conspired
To rosin up the fiddle’s bow
And sweetly pick the lyre.

They played their pipes and drums and flutes,
Their harps and tympanies,
And frolicked in the midnight grass
To spritely symphonies.

And with each step a hat sprang up,
To fill the circle in,
Though Morel, Beech, and Oyster Caps,
Were not admitted in.

They sprouted from the fair folk’s feet,
Clitocybe Nuda,
Marasmius Oreades,
Grown by sounds of tuba!

They danced, these elfs, on mushroom tops
Like angels on a pin,
And to their reels they spun about,
Bowing to their kin.

All about the outer ring
Came other creatures there,
Fox, and Mole, and Hen and Vole
Owl, Moth, and Hare.

Faster faster, played the band
And faster bowed the fiddle.
Faster danced and faster pranced
Their master in the middle.

And reaching to his stately wife,
The fairest elf was she,
They rose above the other imps,
And stop! They spotted me.

Music ceased and dancers froze,
Frolicking no longer,
For all had turned to look at me,
The watcher from the lawn there.

My heart struck up its own refrain
And pounded in my ear
And danced irregular two steps
And called the new song “Fear.”

I knew to see the goodly folk,
In revel, was a risk,
But curiosity had turned
Me to a cocky Fisk.

Oberon, the silence broke
Now turning to his wife,
And told her that the time had come
To put away the fife.

I stayed stock still for good folk will
Cause mischief to intruders.
But these were kind and spared the mind
Of frightened Jacques Carruther.

The foxes fled, and owls sped,
The moles and voles all went.
The moth and hare, no longer there,
Nor anymore the hen.

The good folk too, seen by few,
Scattered to the heather.
The vapors knit, and wreathed the field
And quickly came the weather.

They’d disappeared, instantly
Following their king,
And left the place without a trace
Except the fungal ring.

Print