By Wren Salazar

Another day, another dollar. The afternoon drags on as the sun grows dim. The clouds in the sky are cast with pink gold as the sun sinks into the horizon. Today was a rough day. I find no better respite for my day than at the cart at the end of a long road in the forest. A road that’s ever changing. Sometimes I can only go left; other times, right; and sometimes the road forks. There is only one thing I hope to see at the end of the road — the Mycelia Merchant. I haven’t seen their face yet, and they never talk. Somehow, I can always understand what I need to hear. 

The cart grows near and a strong petrichor fills my nostrils. The smell of earth is indicative that you are nearing your destination. At last, their cart reveals itself to me. It is as long as an RV and as rustic as an overgrown cabin. Ferns spur from the top of the cart, pointing glancing eyes to the warm, yellow glow of the rounded door. At the base of the door, a hand carved and moss-covered set of steps invites me further. Everytime I see it, the cart never fails to draw me in. As I reach for the door, I admire the knob once again. It’s beautifully engraved with the shape of the forest, and curled downwards into an elegant curl that mimics that of the fiddlehead fern.

Finally opening the door, I am greeted with warm air and calm lighting. A dark green carpet sprawled across the floor. It’s accented with shimmering gold and deep maroon interwoven into a beautiful rooting pattern throughout the carpet. The walls are lined with shelves filled with various tinctures, books and knick-knacks; prizes of a life long lived. Scattered around me are the sacks of mushroom: powdered, dried and whole. They are never in short supply. In the center of the wall sits the merchant. They’re clad in an elegant robe, sitting atop a grand wooden chair. The hood of their robe shrouds their face in darkness.

They sit me down at the table and hand me some tea. The brew is true, much better for clarity. Every sip I take, I become a bit more in tune. Maybe life’s not all bad, this mushroom brew rules. The Mycelia Merchants roots sure have a hold on me, and I think today I will bring home some Lions Mane.

Wren is an artist and story writer looking to add some whimsy and curiosity to those around her. A lover of all things, Wren seeks to help others around her with advice or humor. She can be reached at ws81@humboldt.edu