Psilocybe Love Story

Written on September 12, 2020 

I dread winter this year. 
After our summer of virus, 
the joys of outdoor gatherings 
are smothered by smoke. 

Now more than ever 
the encroaching dark & thoughts 
of boots squelching over mud 
threaten my composure. 

Rain-filled rivers will flow high 
Long after summer flames are doused. 
Lush underbrush will spring back 
from summer crush in greening woods. 

Short days loom wet & gray, though psilocybes 
wait to be plucked under cow-dung pancakes. 
Raindrops may be sipped like ambrosia 
from moss sponges & lichen cups. 

My dread of the wet season 
morphs into lovely mushroom memories; 
I dream back to the first autumn that 
my loving partner joined me in the West. 

We reunited in the moist luxuriance 
of the deep Olympic rainforest 
near the vast Pacific Ocean; 
magical futures unfurled before us. 

Botanical resonance with communal 
memories sprung from deep wells 
of tribal archetypes & visions 
spilled over iron red cliffs. 

Rivers of energy flowed 
like blood over spirits 
of grand and ancient cedars 
washed in from the sea. 

Intrepid totems of hope and strength, 
I look to them for sustenance during difficult days ahead.

Laura Celise Lippman