myth for popcorn

The air was dense with an impenetrable fog. I was certain, now that I had lost the path altogether. I would have lost my companions had I not heard their calls through the veils of water droplets. Not even the most ambitious shadow could pass the static white surrounding us.

I had been our guide. It was my mission to take us to the ocean, with nothing in exchange. I had known the direction and we moved with an agility I cultivated in the group up until this point. But I can feel my patience wane, my composure that had kept us. We had met so many people on our way here, so many guides and I thought I could bring us the rest of the way all to the ocean. I thought that we could arrive before the next new moon. We saw the thread of waves from the mountain. But as soon as we descended into the valley, the fog sprung like a hard and immense toad over the valley. At first we walked on, I followed the clover that lined the path. I could see my feet then. It took no longer than an hour for us to arrive here. My companions wailed and I reached for their hands by felt nothing. I did not know how far they were.

I decided we had to build a fire and wait for the fog to pass. Because I could feel the darkness of twilight hug the mist. We finally found each other and put wood to wood and built a fire for all of us to sit around in hopes the fog would pass. But something strange happened when we built that fire. The fog began to pop all around us until the earth was festoon of plump white flowers that I could only see through the dying light on that foggy night once I knelt down to the ground to look. At once a flurry of golden birds came and began to nibble their frothing centers. That night, in mimic of the birds, five of us ate some too, to see how we would fare.

Only then, in the light of the fire, could we see, nestled and obscured by the fog were tiny golden seeds

This was how we stumbled upon the popcorn plant, that was, in fact, fog. We have not, in truth, left the foggy valley, but the popcorn plants make home for us, and we are learning to navigate through this dense place. The vines of peas that grow on the plants weave and pull the fog into all sorts of shapes and the clover gives us direction. We are learning more and more about this place. And in the seasons when the fog leaves the air is crisp and open, and we save some of the golden seeds from the fog time and plant them in the ground.

We did not know we could follow plants, and we did not follow them away. But following them ever more in being exactly where we are.