I
Squat, under a Viney-Maple,
    bursting with orange…
        the Fall Chanterelle.

        **II
Pine needles mound;
    perfect little rolling hills
         cover the forest floor,
Chanterelles are coming!

        III
Her eyes shine bright,
     the excitement of the hunt.
          Chanterelles!

        IV
Five buttons in the bottom of the bucket…

        V
Quick movement out of the corner
    of my eye;
       squirrels like Chanterelles too.

        VI
Buzzing becomes the only reality
   as another bees nest has been disturbed…
    There are many perils
        involved with Chanterelles.

        VII
Closed eyes bring forth
   images of fields,
     orange and extended,
        as there are more Chanterelles in this patch
            than anyone has ever seen.
A cold sweat follows.

        VIII
A blackbird sits high
   on a Fir limb,
      lookin’ like a muthafucker in the club,
          below him, a Chanterelle.

        IX
The scrambled eggs smell divine
     when one cooks them with a fresh Fall Chanterelle.

        X
I throw a steak knife
    with a barbeque brush duct taped
      to the handle
          into an old bucket I drilled holes in the bottom of
                and toss it into the back of my 1984 Nissan 4x4.
                          Today I find Chanterelles.

        XI
The smell of musk fills the air.
     A giant pile of bear ****
          next to a Chanterelle.

        XII
Three sets of tracks lead into the undergrowth,
     cut butts jut up from the floor,
         someone already found
               these Chanterelles.

        XIII
Stopping by a dear friends,
    I leave with them my treasure…
      three pounds of fresh
        Fall Chanterelles.