Decomposer

Decomposer

I am dumbfounded by your precipitous arrival,

So graceful, your stalk shooting up, a gentle bend around the decaying wood.

I’d say you have a bad rap,

Decomposer, most would not associate with folk who poke and prod at the dead and dying.

But without you, searing your hyphae through the rotting flesh of this beloved bark, soil would become dust and unfit for a sapling.

How do you unleash those elements that make us all grow?

Carbon and nitrogen, why can’t we take care of that ourselves?

Without you, all of this rot would pile up, an uncontrollable heap.

Still, you go unnoticed, undercover, for a year, a decade or more.

I cannot fathom the extent of your mycelium beneath my head balancing on this fallen redwood.

How can there be ears, bubbles, stools fit for toads, serrated feathers, gills to make salmon envious, hot air balloons, flying saucers, buttons.

Decomposer masquerading as poppies, parading around, all in one day and be gone the next?

What’s up with that?

It’s a funny show, for sure.

For whom, I wonder?

Not so many brave this damp wood on a day with so much gunk and clods melding into sneakers.

So, who are you showing off to? 
With all this dazzling color? 
For whom, I wonder.