The past few nights, the moon has been this beautifully-sculpted marble fist in the sky, so pristine and shimmering bone-white that it makes your heart pound, and last night I actually sat out and watched it move across the sky. Actually SAW it moving. It was amazing, and for some reason it got me thinking about what it must've been like to be the first person who ever saw a mushroom blossomed like an ugly knuckle on the forest floor and decided to pluck it and place it on their tongue, what that first loamy bite must have been like, the first bite ever taken of a mushroom, the first time its white foam graced human lips. How amazing that must've been.

This morning, my mind kept coming back to that vision of the moon and the thought of that mushroom.

And then quietly, ever so quietly, it turned to the thought of the Spider Pig song and whether or not Chef Ramsey from Hell's Kitchen is kinda foxy.

Spider pig! Spider pig! Does whatever... a spider pig does!

And of course the moon. That blissful opulescent moon.

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