Hunting for Mushrooms

The morning was dark and misty venturing out before the throng weaving between oak and elder the path I took was long I stumbled on a clearing and fell down upon my knees it was there I started digging through discarded wood and leaves burrowing through the top soil breaking deeper in the dirt my fingers and palms wore earth stains nails had worked to earn their worth sensing something beneath the surface of what was left behind reaching in with all purpose the hand I found was mine.