We passed by areas of mushrooms in a wide variety. I glanced at them but didn’t stop to pick any. Some of the village women were expert mushroom collectors, but I’d never been taught to sort the poisonous from the editable ones. Mrs. Cronick, who’d supposedly been one of those expert mushroomers, once picked a bad bunch, or maybe one of the unhealthy ones got included in her day’s foraging. Her neighbor found Mrs. Cronick dead one day. It was a cautionary tale for me. No mushrooms ever.
By the time we reached the water, Frey and I were both fatigued from our travels and ready for a siesta. First we drank some of the very cold water. Then I unsaddled and unbridled Frey and slumped down on a nice patch of soft grass. Frey moved a few feet away to start grazing.
After a moment, restlessness drove me to inspect the plants along the brook. I was delighted to find watercress. There were also several patches of monkey flower. Some even had the flowers, which made it taste sweeter.
Nibbling on these salad greens with a couple of bites of my left over cheese and some of the nuts more than satisfied my appetite. I’d rarely dined so abundantly or felt so full.
The sun was a bright orb in the sky, shining down on me in a midday’s fierceness, so I moved myself over to another plot of ground which resided under the shadow of a tall weeping willow tree. Then sleepiness overtook me, and I fell into a dream about a tubby little gray kitten that wanted me to pet her.