Skinjo and the Fungus That Waits

Alone in the late afternoon, Skinjo rolls the dark, hard body from an old grass seed head across a gloved palm. The low light catches its edge like a stroke of burnt umber. It looks finished.

A sclerotium is not a seed, but fungal threads packed tight and hardened, with food reserves inside. A fungus can endure cold or drought this way: less a departure than a decision to keep everything necessary in one small place.

Skinjo tilts the glove. Another face comes into light. This little body could lie dormant through winter, then germinate when conditions favour growth. Nothing about its stillness promises that return; nothing proves it has ended, either.

For once, the painter leaves the dark shape unaltered. It has already made its own arrangements for the season.