Casa Robino

Why live some soberer way and feel you ebbing out?I won't do it.-Rumi In the far distance, there was an old woman bending down in prayer amongst the ferns and rabbit holes. She was praying to the rabbits and out they would come giving her signs that they were listening to her. This is what we always desire - signs that we are not alone. I gaze out at her, the rain coming down upon us, regardless.Every now and again, she stands up and moves slightly forward. A moving prayer.Moving closer, I see that her hands are not in prayer but instead in search. Her hands were old, dusty and torn maps, veins protruding out of the back of her palms like silver worms. In one hand, a knife, in the other, a basket which she clung to as if it were a large weight. She was five hundred and seven years old and knew the passing of time well. Her fingers were pilgrims, mountain climbers, artists, travellers. Searching, searching. So absorbed in her search that she doesn't see me watching her. As I often am, searching, always.Every so often, when she stops, she gazes down into her basket and smiles, stopping and allowing rain droplets to fall, sliding down from leaves hanging above her and into her eyes, trickling down her cheeks. Stopping for moments of pleasure is the silent quality of a deep search...I forget and lose this so often.Soon, an orange mountain arises from her basket. They were Chanterelles, a mushroom that looks like an upraised hand clenching for the sky. It has stripped gills can can be eaten alone after frying it a little in oil or butter. Thus ignited a great passion of mine - mushroom hunting and the quality of search.