By their fruits
My tribe are the hidden ones
The underground breakers down
Of last season’s discard.
The nitrogen magicians
Enabling life in many forms.
Orchid to oak
We are soil-lace
Encouraging leaf and flower.
See me briefly
Let me intrude a fruiting body
Into airy upper realms
Shiny red cap, rare green,
Spotted fairy fly agaric
Generously capped wands
To weave enchantment
Nourish or poison.
A moment of glory.
My true work is underground
In the roots and beginnings
In decay and endings
In secret.
Earth dreaming.
Druid Life 
Like that. We too are the swan’s legs; the flurry beneath the calm.
Love this!
Ditto: Love this!
Yes! this makes me think of how much a dry objective scientific worldview dominates and how much my mind does not work like this (and for many others), so I would understand science if it was transmutated into poetic imagination which you doing here (and which is necessary for the future, the marriage of poetry and science, objective and subjective, no split, no favouring one view as realer than the other)
Yes! I would cheerfully accept that as a mission, thank you. Also sorry it was slow showing up, I have to approve first time comments, and I have only just got to my email.