Scapelock’s shelf

A mushroom poem, inspired by Applecap‘s long dozen

Fallen curate
Light from the dead stars glints from your stone pendant
It’s my turn I suppose to mourn the stars, and yours to sing

A map, with this note attached

Try to visit on a moonless night if you can swing it. Lie on your back in the Dandelion Meadow on the lip of Stardrop Basin on a moonless night, and sometimes the drifting seeds will play-act the long-ago star-drop for you.

Two long dozen poems

Mist smudges
And jagged screes seem as soft as the fens
A single blended brushstroke, sweeping to the basin

Mist smudges
And jagged screes seem as soft as the fens
A single blended brushstroke, sweeping us down the slope

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