The Mushroom Marriage

Glump the toadstool bowed to the giant hickory tree. "Then it is decided?"

Old Man Hickory's bark groaned as he also bowed, albeit at a much slower and in a much slighter way.

The circle of shrooms danced around their glumpiest Glump. Their shrill acclamation reached not far from the forest floor, for fungi lack large lungs.

Glump sidled up to one of Old Man Hickory's roots, where a porcelain ballerina pirouetted inside a hollow knot. She wore a perpetual smile beneath long lashes. Her blue skirt billowed about her waist, making her look to Glump very much like an upside-down mushroom.

He embraced his new wife in the traditional way that mushrooms hug, and stared up at her glassy, dark eyes. He loved her eyes, and her flowing hair, and most everything about her. But he liked her most because she never said anything cross.

"Chanterelle and I will live here, beneath your boughs, Father." Glump pronounced this last word with reverential awe.

Old Man Hickory had not the heart to tell the tiny toadstool that some unfortunate lass had dropped her childhood toy some years ago, and that he had merely been caretaker since then.

"Son," he managed through taut vocal cords. With a shake of a branch, he showered them with a dozen leaves, laden with enough nutrients for another generation of mushrooms.

Glump would have smiled if he could have, but instead he spread mycelia in the dirt beside his bride, drawing out nutrients from the rich soil and detritus.

"What shall we do on this fine day, love?" he asked.

Figuring her silence for generous deferral, Glump lay his cap against her brow and sighed. "I think so too. It's much too fine a day to cuddle to do anything but."