tiny mushrooms

The other afternoon, among moss and rays of sunlight, I found a group of tiny mushrooms that seemed to have come out of a story. They were so small they fit in the palm of my hand, with little shiny brown hats. Some wore their hats a little on one side, like children who tried on daddy’s hat and ran out to play. One had a drop of dew hanging, as if it were her unshed tear of laughter. Another had put on a dry leaf as a crown and looked like the queen of the little forest. They smelled like rain-kissed earth and newly awakened magic. I leaned down and whispered “hello” to them, and I swear one winked at me with its little white dot. I left with a heart full of confetti and the certainty that the forest guards elves with hats. Since then, every time it rains, I smile knowing that they are dancing again.