In the old days
it was the smell
that gave them away
They couldn’t all hold on
some would always fall
and rot
on the ground
The scent is sweeter then you think
And it always gives them away
Nowadays we just corral them
People line up to take their pick
There’s no hunt
No chase
Just fill up a bag
take them home
chop them up
and serve them
baked in a buttery crust
They will still smell sweet
Everyday Strange 
Made me think of the morel mushrooms we have been hunting for!
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Sounds adventurous!
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