Every Autumn these large puffball fungi break through the asphalt. And always I am reminded of this poem by Sylvia Plath. Mushrooms Overnight, very Whitely, discreetly, Very quietly Our toes, our noses Take hold on the loam, Acquire the air. Nobody sees us, Stops us, betrays us; The small grains make room. Soft fists … Puffballs Read More »