A few days ago a mushroom patch sprouted from around the roots of our deceased maple tree.
It was more like a village.
There are scientific explanations for this phenomenon, but I knew at once that at last, after searching all these years, I was finally witnessing for myself the fabled home of They. You can imagine my joy! I went to the files at once and reread my homage to They that came out thirty years ago in a book I called THE BOY WHO COUNTED STARS.
They I don't know their names, But They live in the grass And They are only two inches tall, And nobody knows where They came from Or why They're so terribly small. They slip through the clover And hide in the leaves So you seldom can see them at all, And nobody knows why They live there Near the base of the garden wall. They dance and parade By the light of the moon And visit with crickets all day, And nobody knows how They got there Or whether They're planning to stay. And maybe you'll meet them, And maybe you won't, If you come to my house to play, "Cause everyone wants to know who They are, But nobody knows but They. (c) 1994 David L Harrison, from THE BOY WHO COUNTED STARS
This morning the village is gone. It has vanished as surely as Brigadoon. They are gone. I am privileged to be one of the few humans to have seen where They live, or, rather, where They lived for a few enchanted hours. Where They went, I do not know. But They were here in my back yard at Goose Lake, and I will always have that memory.