I’d been crook with a dreaded lurgy for two weeks but after cancelling a coffee catch up with a photography mate the week before, I convinced myself I was well enough (and not contagious) to go this time. I forgot how far the carpark to the coffee was at Fairfield Boathouse (it’s not really that far, but it was a slow walk down and back to avoid a coughing fit) and when I got back to my car, I noticed a patch of bright orange mushrooms in the nature strip between the car park and a block of apartments. And then I noticed a swathe of little white mushrooms close by. And then some brown ones and then some burgundy ones. And then I grabbed my camera.
I had thrown the camera in the car, briefly considering changing the 100mm macro lens to a more versatile and compact nifty fifty, but was too sick to care so just chucked it in. I spent a blissful time getting high on photographing mushrooms. I felt like I had entered a magic, ethereal other-world.
