Magical fly agarics

⏱ ~5 min reading

In the depths of a quiet forest, where the paths are overgrown with moss and the sun reaches the ground in thin rays, fly agarics grow. Red hats with white spots. Thin white legs. Round. Pretty. Not one of them stands, but a whole circle - near an old birch, near a fallen trunk, in a clearing among the moss.

During the day they are ordinary mushrooms. A kind of forest decoration. Whoever walks along the path will look at them and smile: «Wow, how beautiful they are.» And he went on.

And at night, these fly agarics are completely different.

If you come to the forest late, very, very late, when the moon is already high and the stars are scattered over the tops of the pine trees, you will see a miracle. You just have to sit quietly on a fallen tree. And not move. And not breathe loudly. And wait.

At first, nothing. Just the rustling of leaves. Somewhere far away, an owl will call out: "pugu-u." Somewhere, a mouse will run among the roots. And silence.

And suddenly — oh! — look at the fly agaric.

A tiny window lit up in the little red hat. Round, warm, yellowish. Like a lantern in a distant house. And next to it was a second window. And then a door. Small, wooden, with a carved frame, with a copper handle the size of a pea.

Because fly agarics are not mushrooms. They are houses. The houses of little forest elves.

In each fly agaric lives one elf. Or a family - mom, dad, elf. They have everything there like ordinary people: a small table made of bark, a bed made of petals, a cabinet made of walnut shells. At night, the elves wake up - because their day is the other way around. They light firefly candles. They have breakfast with honey drops from lilies of the valley. And they go outside.

The door opens quietly. "Clack" - and an elf appears. In a green hood. In shoes made of acorn shells. Small, no bigger than a needle. He looks around to see if it's safe and calls out to his friends:

"Let's go out! The whole night is ours.".

And then others emerge from the fly agarics. Elf girls in dresses made of rosehip petals. Elf boys with tiny hats made of burdock. Old elves with white beards, even smaller. Little elf babies who have just learned to walk.

They gather in a clearing. Among the fly agarics. On the moss, cool and soft.

And it begins.

The first elf brings out a flute—carved from a nightingale's bone. He raises it to his lips—and a faint melody wafts over the clearing. Faint, faint, like a spider's web. You can barely hear it.

The second elf has a violin made of a hazelnut shell. The strings are made of spider web. The bow is made of horsehair that accidentally fell into the forest. He plays with the bow, and barely audible overtones fall on top of the flute, like another thread of song.

The third elf, the smallest, carries a silver bell. The size of a dewdrop. It tinkles softly, softly: «ding-ding-ding.» And this note pierces everything through, like a star pierces the night sky.

And the elves dance. They hold onto their paws. They circle around the fly agarics. They laugh quietly - so as not to scare the forest inhabitants. Fireflies fly above them like tiny lanterns. The moon peeks through the crowns and smiles too.

If you sit very, very quietly and look carefully, you'll see tiny footprints in the grass. A footprint from the left foot, a footprint from the right. A circle around the fly agaric — the elf passed by. A path from one mushroom to another — a whole family passed by there to visit. Small, barely noticeable. But they're there.

You just need to remember the main rule.

Don't come close.

Because if you take one extra step, the fly agaric will hear you. The ground beneath it will tremble. The windows will go out in an instant. The doors will close. The elves will jump back, each to their own house. The music will stop. The clearing will be filled with night and moss again. And you won't see anything. Only ordinary mushrooms.

That's why good children who know about elves do this. That's how their grandmother, the herbalist, taught them, who once saw an elven dance herself.

First, come quietly in the evening. Don't run, don't shout. Walk as if you were a ray of moonlight.

Second, sit far away. Better than a tree, on a fallen trunk. You can see everything from there, but you don't disturb the fly agarics.

Third, don't turn on the flashlight. Your eyes will get used to the darkness. And then you'll see much more than with a flashlight.

Fourth, don't touch it. No matter how much you want to pick up the fly agaric. No matter how curious you are to see if there really is a house inside. Don't touch it. Just be happy with what you see. Imagine it - what a beautiful dream. And let it live.

Fifth, look with your heart. Not just with your eyes. Because elves show themselves to those who have a good heart. Who don't run after prey, don't pick flowers, don't break branches. Who walk through the forest quietly, like a guest.

If you keep at it, you'll see. Maybe not the first time. Maybe not the second. But one evening—once!—the windows light up.

And in the morning the fly agarics become mushrooms again. They stand alone, red with white spots, modestly. No one would think that they had a party last night. Only if you are a good observer, you will see a tiny line on the cap. This is a shutter. And below - a tiny indentation. This is a threshold.

And then you will smile. Because you will know the secret.

Nature is full of such secrets. Its people live in the moss. Its inhabitants in the old stumps. Its singers in the rosehip bushes. Its wise grandfather in the hollow of a large oak. All this is not a fairy tale. All this is real.

Just take your time. Go slowly. Listen. Watch.

Magic is always around. It's just waiting for you to notice. And the fly agarics will light up the windows at night - for those who know how to wait patiently.