When a mom visits a sick daughter, she might bring flowers.
Not my mom.
When she visits, she brings a poisonous mushroom, colorful, bright and beautiful orange with white spots, with crenellated edges.
We couldn't find the right vase to put it in, so now it sits in in a plastic boot drinking glass from "Dolly Parton's Dixie Stampede" - a souveneir from my parent's RV travels to Branson.
Somewhere there's a story here, but I think I might have to get well to find it.
My mom sees beauty around her, everywhere, on her walks, on travels.
Maybe there is a poem here instead . . . a kind of ode to my mom, who brings me mushrooms, leaves, and sometimes even flowers. She likes to give gifts of all kinds.