Two Octobers ago, while walking the dog, I came across an eruption of tree mushroom fungi at the base of an old oak (photos). Recently the weathered tree succumbed to old age and city contractors came to chain-saw and remove its above-ground bulk. A stump remains, but it too will soon be ground up and disposed of. And so this October the fungi reappeared to take a colorful final bow.
. 
.
A couple of years ago, in a short review of a slim book of poetry, Eric McHenry made this observation:
“American poetry — according to one of the many competing caricatures — is dominated by English professors and the minor epiphanies they have while walking their dogs.”
Walking my dog this evening I came across a “growth” attached to the base of a 70-year-old oak tree. Its peach color made my golden retriever look dull in comparison (sorry, Jesse) and its hue intensified as blue evening descended. An example of the power of complementary colors, this was a minor epiphany to my non-professorial American eyes.
.
.
. 