When you are down low digging or skeeting ramps and your glance approaches horizontal,
a morel might come into view.
Suddenly like Charles Baker Harris
from the sweep of a field
you see only the intestinal luminescent amber
of the morel.
Butter and pasta tease your tongue.
It's best to freeze right then because you could easily squash several in one wrong move. Stay low or get lower. You need some butt and thigh muscle. If you are lucky, morels pop and scatter, making your eyes dart about the forest floor.
It's almost as good as a dream I had at ten when the sand in my sand box
morphed into quarters.