It was always on those mornings when I had just enough time to scour the freshly cut, dew laden lawn for those tiny mushrooms that dared to grow, that I knew the day would be a decent one. "Hey!", my sister would threaten, "what are you doing?! Don't do it..." With a knowing, mischievous chuckle I would kick one of my finds down. Sometimes the cap would stick to my shoe along with grass blades. But it was the ones that went flying clear across the lawn that made me laugh triumphantly. The other morning I found a few scattered about after having not seen them for some while. One down. Then another. However, my usual joyful glee - at having destroyed the imaginary fairies resting atop their mushroom capped stools - turned pensive.
