A Walk in the Forest on Whidbey Island

Back in April I visited my college friend David and his wife Victoria. They live on Whidbey Island, a quick ferry ride north of Seattle. One afternoon during our magical weekend, we took a brief hike in the forest...

...where the air is moist and the moss grows lush.

The undergrowth is a study in organic design.



We had to watch that we didn't step on anyone...

Banana slug (Genus Ariolimax)

...and that no one might step on us.

I had never seen so many varieties of fungi in less than an hour. 

Update: possibly Bulgaria inquinans

I could not identify one of them...

... beyond the kingdom of Fungi.

Then I saw a mushroom similar to one that my buddy Ken-ichi identified for me last January. Hopefully Ken-ichi, impressive naturalist and co-founder/developer of iNaturalist.org, will confirm that this is of the genus Agaricus.

I recognized the morel mushroom from back in the days when I could eat mushrooms without getting a migraine headache.

Morel mushroom (Genus Morchella)

I have never eaten a salmonberry, but I bet it's delicious.

Salmonberry (Rubus spectabilis) 

Maybe I have to return in the autumn so that I could taste them.

Who Needs a Smartphone?

REMIND-O-METER, seen in a thrift shop on Whidbey Island. 

Forgetfulness

BY

BILLY COLLINS

The name of the author is the first to go

followed obediently by the title, the plot,

the heartbreaking conclusion, the entire novel

which suddenly becomes one you have never read, never even heard of,

as if, one by one, the memories you used to harbor

decided to retire to the southern hemisphere of the brain,

to a little fishing village where there are no phones.

Long ago you kissed the names of the nine muses goodbye

and watched the quadratic equation pack its bag,

and even now as you memorize the order of the planets,

something else is slipping away, a state flower perhaps,

the address of an uncle, the capital of Paraguay.

Whatever it is you are struggling to remember,

it is not poised on the tip of your tongue

or even lurking in some obscure corner of your spleen.

It has floated away down a dark mythological river

whose name begins with an L as far as you can recall

well on your own way to oblivion where you will join those

who have even forgotten how to swim and how to ride a bicycle.

No wonder you rise in the middle of the night

to look up the date of a famous battle in a book on war.

No wonder the moon in the window seems to have drifted 

out of a love poem that you used to know by heart.

-- Billy Collins

Click here to hear Billy Collins read this poem.

Source:

"Forgetfulness by Billy Collins : Poetry Magazine [poem/magazine]." Poetry Foundation. 

“Forgetfulness” from Questions About Angels.
Copyright © 1999 by Billy Collins.
Reprinted with the permission of University of Pittsburgh Press.