When I awoke this morning, something was still playing on my mind from the night. I stretched and opened my eyes searching for the reason, but the dream slid away like a shadow moving with the sun.

I was agitated somehow.

Not upset or depressed just moved by some thought that had evoked this feeling. But as is the human nature this feeling was beginning to morph into a worry. Where had that conversion happened, which synaptic jump had converted it?

Sitting for a moment on the side of my bed I pushed my toes into the soft pile of the carpet, purposely concentrating on the sensation, trying to calm my agitation and the sense of urgency that I had woken with.

I opened the curtains and saw the sun’s golden paint on the old oak tree, directly outside. It made me smile. 

My tree, no one’s tree, everyone’s tree.

I began to feel better as my thoughts grounded like the roots of the old oak, my head full of gold like the sunny crown on the leaves.

I looked down at the garden below and saw that the ‘Fairy Ring’ of fungi that always surround the base of the oak at this time of year, had born fruit. The underground network of this weird organism had expanded, and the mushrooms had flourished overnight. This travelling creature had come from the darkest place to the surface just in time to see the sunrise, in time to shine.

I had heard that fungi around a tree had a deep and lasting relationship, roots and mycelium working together to use and share resources.

Who knew the movements of these strange beings, their fight for survival, their challenges and their victories? 

The energy of their march last night must have been intense. Perhaps the tree had helped with the battle, now victorious over the soil’s constraints and futile objections against the wonderous fruits bursting forth by sunrise. 

Standing now and leaning forward, my head against the cool glass of the window, I examined my neighbours’ gardens on both sides. No, a battle had been fought on my lawn alone. The march of the mushrooms had culminated in a ‘Fairy Ring’ of my very own, standing proudly around a young tree that I had planted several years ago.

Perhaps then, my agitation from last night were the remnants of energy expended while together we fought the soil in my dreams.