Unless a flying saucer falls out of the sky and crashes on the ground right in front of me, I will never know that it has been hovering over my head.
Once on my way to school I was traipsing through deep snow, watching my boots with the plastic bread bags folded over their edges sink into the snow and out of the snow, almost disappearing with each step. I was so absorbed with making sure that none of that white stuff came in over the tops of my boots that I walked head first, straight into one of those skinny little trees that the city had planted the previous summer and I fell over backwards. Well, as long as I was down there I did make a snow angel. But the point is that it had not been my intent and I did walk head first into a tree. And walking into a tree, no matter what size it is, with your head, hurts.
I blame this on my Dad. He could be seated at the kitchen table with six rambunctious kids and my mom yelling something about a spilled glass of milk and a freshly waxed floor and be completely unaware of the situation.
He also never didn’t have a cut on the top of his head.
So, being the unobservant creature that I am, noticing a mushroom invasion was a pretty darn exciting experience.
I admit that I would have had to have been blind not to have seen all the mushrooms, but even then I bet my seeing eye dog would have pointed them out to me, unless that seeing eye dog was Hunter.
I hope Hunter is never my seeing eye dog.
The first time I ever saw her was more than twenty years ago. I didn’t like her. I didn’t have any reason not to like her, I just didn’t. She had the thickest pile of red hair that I have ever seen hanging almost to her waist. It was ninety degrees and humid as hell and we were standing in the factory. Sweat was dripping into my eyes and seeing her mane of fire made me so hot that I thought I was going to faint. She was wearing black clothes and black eye make up. I think she was Goth before Goth was Goth. After that day, I never gave her another thought.