Chanterelle

Even the homely wood blewits, that you cook like tripe, with milk and onions, and the egg-yolk yellow chanterelle with its fan-vaulting and faint smell of apricots, all spring up overnight like bubbles of earth, unsustained by nature, existing in a void.

There were hushed moments of complete beauty when the melody moved out and hung above the chanterelle like a hummingbird poised over a flower.