But Where Do They Come From?

I don’t believe in fairies. Of course, I don’t. They show up only in children’s stories of years ago, those magical little folk who can nip through the air, appearing and disappearing as they wish. And yet, when I see mushrooms that have popped up in my grass overnight,  I wonder just what, exactly, goes on when the moon is full and tree shadows lie across the grass, when the night owl hoots softly from his hiding place and a soft breeze whispers secrets to the leaves?

No one knows, of course, because no one sees. Are those mushrooms the umbrellas of small creatures who disappear in a puff of wind, who grant wishes and bestow sweet dreams upon untroubled sleepers?

So, I admire those mushrooms and smile, and wonder–just what, exactly, happens when the moon sails overhead and the leaves shiver with the mysteries told them by the breezes? One can only imagine.

Manos Mysteries