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Writer's pictureTim Huber

Morel

The quiet meadow is his,

cool and damp and cushioned,

with trees to sleep against

and moss along the rocks.


Peculiar power has he

over grass that grows

in the shade of his meadow:


connoisseurs crawl

for the simple affections

he gives to each without cost.


They have grown within

to be given away

to grass that has grown beneath him.


Thus he towers poor and plain,

unaware of his power

while his hollow heart

holds his household.


In the forest, he is Morel;

in some other land, he is father;

in both, he is hidden treasure.


Porous, that love may flow out.

Soft, so to give himself freely.

He is as gentle a gem as is found

in the coffers of the earth.


 

My dad loves morel mushrooms, both the flavor and the hunt. Every spring he’s watching for little specks of brown in the grass, checking near trees and making sure no one runs any over. Something I thought about this Father’s Day is how much of a hidden treasure fathers are. Mine isn’t hidden in the sense that he isn’t or hasn’t been around; quite the opposite. I fail to appreciate fully how much my father has done and still does for me and my siblings. Fathers have such an impact on the lives of their kids and, while not perfect, I am so grateful for the impact mine has had on me.

Happy Father’s Day!

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