Spores and s'mores

We could have roasted marshmallows at the grassfire down by the creek beyond the playground.  That was Monday, and it was a big event for the kiddies watching the firetruck arrive from safely inside the school.  All those fire drills practicing getting out of the school fast, then the fire is outside and we rush kids indoors.  The fire started when a worker was using a power saw to cut down a tree damaged in the wind on a day with a code red burn ban.  Droughts, gales, flash flooding after a nighttime storm, and me with my fat fingers, yes, fingers too fat to push the buttons on my cell phone for even 911.

Real life and nightmares have overlapped and interwoven to a disturbing degree this week.  Not poetic, but it's good to realize I'm feeling way too responsible for everybody and unable to access support.

To crawl out of my shell and leave it behind on the tree trunk, would I have to leave my cell phone and responsibilities, too?  Checking in with friends in St. Louis to find the emergence of the thirteen-year cicada is abating, but still nasty.  Good to learn that people with shellfish allergies should not eat cicada exoskeletons!

We have comparatively few cicadas emerging to buzz like power saws (or obnoxious leaf-blowers).  Spotted a new adult climbing up a branch.  Rather handsome with its green body, white face and ascot, and Tiffany wings.  I assembled the kiddies and used a broomstick for a pointer.  Look, Dick.  Look, look.  Tell Jane and Sally.  See, Madden?  See, Kyla?  Cicada!

After the rainstorm a fungus emergeth amongstus.  Big dang fungus.  When that fungus eruptus there'll be spores and spores galore.

And what is that visually unappetizing snack a student brings everyday?  He reports it is Pepperidge Farm S'mores Goldfish.

Cicada choose Craisins with Corn Chex and Cheerios instead?

© 2011 Nancy L. Ruder