Emma Kathryn Wild Witchcraft

“Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes and graves, whose pastime is to make the midnight mushrooms…”

– Shakespeare, The Tempest

The quietness after killing the engine is loud. It’s a liminal moment in itself, one in which the masks of civility and tameness are stripped away, revealing the wildness beneath, complete with tooth and claw. The moment stretches into eternity and yet disperses quickly, the sounds of the forest filling the silence. The loud brash call of the crow amid the melodic tune of unseen songbirds fills the air, accompanied always by the soft percussion as  wisps of air move through the boughs.

It’s cold and bright and we’re out early enough to capture the rising of the sun through the trees, spilling its golden light so that it enters the woods in bright shafts. It catches the silken threads of spider webs and small flying things, and alights off golden and red leaves as they weave to the floor in their final death dance, fractals of the autumn sun. It reveals a hidden world of magic and wonder, far removed from the world of concrete and metal. Indeed, it is easy to feel the magic, it assaults the body with sensations and scents and an ethereal beauty that speaks to the soul in a language that doesn’t have words.

But there is an extra layer of enchantment in this, the beginning of the dark half of the year. Beneath the boughs, amid the ferns and bracken, sprouting from the soft moss covered ground or from lichen covered tree trunks, the mushrooms have arrived.

They are wondrous beyond compare. You may think me mad, but then perhaps that’s how I see you too, those who have only pondered the mushroom as far as their stomachs as they’ve  bought them in plastic covered bundles. Of never having the sheer delightful experience of finding a bright red mushroom pushing itself up from the ground, rising above the detritus of the forest floor, drawing the eye with its bright splash of colour. How sad indeed! To those I’d say get out, to the forest with you! Take off your masks, release your own wildness! For indeed there is something magical about the secret world of fungi, these things that are neither plant nor animal.

We hear about liminal spaces galore at this time of year. The veil is thinning, the worlds of the living and dead move within whispering distance of one another and all the other poetic ways of describing the growing gloom, tells us that this time is special, and yet it is in the mushroom that such metaphors are made real. Is not the famous liberty cap well renowned for taking the psychonaut on otherworldly adventures? Of opening up the self to the universe? Indeed the mushroom is filled with a storied history that speaks of hidden spaces, delights and wonders but also with that hint of danger, real and wild and beyond our own kenning.

Have you ever stumbled upon a fairy ring? Maybe you have seen them and wondered at such a thing, a load of mushrooms, delightful in themselves, what with their range of colour and shape, growing in almost perfect circles. Such a magical sight indeed, and yet for those of us who know, the magic and allure has a dark side. Across the British isles, there are many stories of fairy rings and what should happen to any poor soul who should find themselves ensnared. For if such a dreadful fate should fall on you, you’ll be trapped for an eternity, in a macabre dance, unable to stop, unable to eat or drink but not unable to outdance the knowledge of your own fate, nor unable to numb the pains of body or mind.

This isn’t the only link between mushrooms and the fae, there are many, including the names of some fungi. Fairy bonnets are common small mushrooms that are grey and have a ribbed appearance. They grow on rotten wood and their name, well, it explains itself. Scarlet elf cups are another delightful find, their name hinting at their shape. It is easy enough to picture elves and fairies sipping the sweetest dew drops from them. Fairytales are yet another link, bringing together lore, magic and mystery, indeed at the mere mention of such stories, perhaps it is the amanita muscaria that comes to mind, the classic toadstool. And why shouldn’t it? The deep shiny red cap and white spots is a wondrous sight to behold indeed. It draws the eye and holds the gaze and makes you wonder at what else stalks the forest in the deepening gloom.

Perhaps it is you, wild and free, unmasked once more.