Cold and wet, you shiver amongst the leaves.

Poor thing. These grey rains offer no respite.

You are so small, so easily missed

By a casual glance. Mere scenery.

The weather is merciless to small things.

With the damp comes toadstools, fruiting, sporing.

The brimmed cap provides some paltry shelter.

So you huddle, wrapped in flannel rags

Discarded wrappers, washers, buttons, pins

Against a thick stipe, golden and ridged.

You are lost. You woke one morning to find

Your burrow empty, abandoned, quiet.

The entrance open to the elements.

In the soft earth outside, marks of talons.

You knew then that the birds had taken them.

Why did they spare you? Those scavenging beaks

Which prey on little folk, tiny inchlings;

People who go unseen in the great wood.

Do they mistake you for insects? Alas:

The cruelty of the crop still remains.

That was summer. And though the grief was great

You still had the sunshine and abundance.

Now it is getting into the dark winter.

You must secure refuge before the frosts

Strip bare the trees and shrivel ev’ry stem.

Now the rain pours, and there you sit, huddled

Beneath the shallow cap of a fungus

Whose name is unknown to you, but yellow

As summer sun at the dawn; reminder

That the forest, despite the cold, still lives.

Your bent legs are drawn up under your chin

And both your eyes, frosted with tears, behold

The colour of your bare feet: dull blue

And grey as death. You lost your shoes last night.

So you sigh, bunching up, conserving heat.

So cold are you that at first, you don’t hear

The sound that comes billowing through the trees.

A soft, rhythmic booming, musical thunder.

It is quiet, distant, but you know

How quickly it can be upon you.

Despite the painful stiffness of your limbs,

You force yourself to shift, pushing yourself

To t’other side of the yellow stipe

And try to remain there, out of sight.

You close your eyes. You hope. You wait. Breathless.

The sound grows louder and louder, closer, closer.

Then it stops. And there is a great silence.

You know not of Persephone, but still

Despite yourself, you cannot help but

Look back, in just a momentary glance.

There stand two black boots, vaster than any

That you have ever seen. And now you know:

You have encountered a human.

You stifle a cry, and, turning away,

Cover your head, trying to hide yourself.

You have only encountered humans once.

You were a child, then, and you recall

How large they were. Like trees that walk–and think!

Of course, those you saw were but babes themselves.

This is an adult human, towering.

There is a sound like storm wind, and you feel

The air, buffeted by a creature

Of unimaginable size and weight.

You recall how fast they move, despite

How heavy they are. So nimble and deft.

The great boot falls not far from your refuge.

You hear a wooden log snapping like bones.

The other children did not believe you

When you told them of how big humans are.

How fast. And how carelessly destructive.

Some distance away stands another ‘shroom.

It would take you perhaps a minute.

You watch, helpless, as a hand, ten thousand

Of your own, emerges from above

And plucks it from the soil of the earth.

Your guts are in knots with dread. For you know

What will happen next. Yet you cannot scream.

Your world goes dark, then fills with a strange scent.

And you are hoisted at so great a speed,

Up higher than you ever dared venture.

You cling to the ridges under the cap

And the fingers seem not to notice you.

You dare not move, dare not breathe, dare not stir.

You play at being fungus, become scarce.

Then, carelessly, the huge fingers drop you.

You land with a bump, in what looks to you

Like a vast boat, woven from long, stiff stems.

You imagine the strength it would take

To construct such a thing. You are afraid.

Beside you lies the corpse of your shelter.

You dare not look up, and meet the gaze

Of the one that has taken you prisoner.

You crouch, lie flat, and scuttle beneath

The dead fungi around you. You are lost.

Now you have entered the realm of giants.

You remain out of sight as you watch

Mushrooms, which would take ten strong men to fell

Be lifted as though they are nothing

And tossed into the belly of the boat.

What awesome strength the humans possess.

You suppose they must have stolen it

From the gods. Perhaps, once, they were like you.

Tiny, unseen, scampering in the woods.

Then one day, they learned the secret of strength

And grew to their current size, kings of all.

The human’s footsteps rattle your bones.

You feel your teeth shudder with ev’ry stride.

Below, the breaking of wood beneath

That great boot reminds you of the danger

That you find yourself in. You are frightened.

What use would a human have for fungus?

Your people use them for many reasons

But mostly as a food source. One mushroom

Can feed half a village for a week.

Humans are much larger. They must eat more.

Humans must eat mushrooms! But is that all?

What else do humans eat? You’ve never seen

A human feeding itself before.

Only the babes, who ate strange, salty foods

Kept in large sacks, printed with strange symbols.

Do humans eat little folk? Like the birds?

What if you are mistaken for a ‘shroom?

For a moment, you consider shouting

But stop yourself. Discovery means death!

And then, without warning, all goes dark.

You peer out of the pile of mushrooms

And see that the open top of the boat

Has been covered by a wide cloth roof.

The human must be protecting its food

From the cold and damp, just as you do.

Now there is a long time in darkness.

Only the sounds of the forest outside

And the light shining in through holes

In the weave. The sun must be setting.

And the rhythm of the giant’s footsteps.

Along the way, you hear the sounds outside

Begin to change, diminish, transform.

Birdsong gives way to babbling streams

And rustling leaves to stones underfoot.

A strange relief to be out of the rain.

Then there comes one more, another new sound.

It is loud, clear, and resonant. A voice.

You have never heard a human speak

Let alone sing. But this human sings,

Softly humming a sweet idle tune.

You listen a moment, and wonder

If this may be the last music you hear.

Oh, how cruel — to be gently lullabied

Before you are devoured. How cruel

That the boot did not make short work of you.

And as you sit, contemplating your doom,

You come to a stop. You have arrived.

From betwixt the weave you see a great door,

Perhaps a hundred times as tall as you.

Wooden, painted blue. The human’s abode.

There comes a rattling sound, and the door

Heavier than a thousand mushrooms

Creaks open, and you enter a world

Of warmth, new smells, metal tools, pots and pans

And furniture, all wrought of wood.

So this is how the bigfolk live their lives.

In enormous caverns, filled with riches,

Warm and dry. No wonder they dared steal height

From the gods themselves. This is Paradise.

For a moment, you forget your peril.

The cloth roof is drawn back, and the hand,

Probing for toadstools, grabs a handful.

You flatten yourself against the wall,

Arms spread wide. You dare not move. The hand seeks.

In the dim light, you hold your breath and wait.

For the first time, you get to take a look

At the hand that holds you captive here.

The fingers are long and thick, like branches.

They are dexterous, nimble. And the long nails

On each finger are painted midnight black.

One by one the mushrooms disappear

From the prison ship. It is a marvel.

How a multitude of heavy objects

Can be spirited away with such ease.

You would struggle to lift but one of them.

And now there are only two left in here.

That is you, and your former umbrella.

The hand reaches in, and the fingers clutch

At the stipe. Silently, you bid farewell

And it is taken away to the unknown.

The human turns away from you. You breathe.

You hear a melody again, that song

That makes a dirge for your fungal comrades.

You take a step towards the melody–

And yelp! At the hand now fast approaching!

You attempt to escape, but where to run?

The small opportunity goes to waste.

For the human’s hand is now upon you

And it closes around you, eclipsing

All light. All is darkness. And that strange scent.

You feel a hard throbbing all around you

Just for a moment, and you understand

That the big people, just like you, have hearts.

Held in the giant’s grip, you cannot scream.

Only wait for whatever comes next.

The light returns, and as sight avails you

You find yourself looking into two eyes.

You flinch at once. Their gaze is absolute.

Each of them just as wide as you are tall.

The eyes blink. The pupils dilate. Seeing.

You are known, and too petrified to speak.

All you can do is stare across the gulf.

The human’s face is ringed by long black hair

And the curious eyes are painted black

Like the abducting nails. The human smiles.

“Looks like I’ve got a stowaway,” she says

For she is a human woman. She says

“Now, how on Earth did you get in there?”

You cannot speak. Would she understand you

Even if you could? Your lips move. No sound.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” she says.

“My, you must be a long long way from home.”

“I have no home,” you say. Can she hear you?

The human blinks in surprise. It seems

That your speaking confirms that you are real.

“Were you hiding in the mushrooms?” she asks.

You are uncertain of how to answer.

“Yes,” you reply. “I’m sorry, I didn’t–“

The giant reaches, holds up a mushroom.

“This one?” she asks. It’s brown, with a white stalk.

“No,” you say, though afraid to correct her. “It was–“

“Oh, this chanterelle?” She lifts the carcass

Of your comrade, the one who sheltered you.

“Yes,” you say. “I was hiding from the rain.”

The human frowns. “I am sorry,” she says.

“It wasn’t my home,” you say. “It was just

Shelter, so I could stay out of the rain.”

“My goodness, you’re filthy,” she interjects.

“It’s just as well I was about to wash

These mushrooms. It’s for my supper, you see.”

All these for one meal? That’s impossible.

Humans must all have very large stomachs.

“You can eat that much?” you say, uncertain.

“Well, they cook down.” The human pauses.

“Wow, you really are small.” She smiles again.

You cast your gaze downward, at her stomach

Then back up to her face, your eyes wide.

She must see your fear. “Hey, hey. It’s okay.

I’m not going to eat you. I promise.”

You could almost cry for sheer relief.

She sets you down on a wooden table

Then crouches, peering at you wide-eyed

From just above the edge. “So small,” she says.

“I think I’ll keep you. If you want me to.”

You look back at her. She means you no harm.

“I’m Mae, by the way. And how about you?”

The only ones who knew your name are gone.

“I don’t know,” you say, telling her the truth.

“You don’t know what your name is?” she asks.

“I have no home. I guess I have no name.”

“That’s okay.” She scoops you up in her palm.

“You’re safe now, here with me. I’ll keep you warm.

Now, let’s get you cleaned up, as good as new.”

She undresses you, washing you gently

In a large basin filled with warm water.

As you clean off, she walks across the room.

There is a metal thing at the far end.

She takes a long tool, pokes around inside

Then grabs a box, all filled with wooden sticks.

She takes a stick and strikes it on the box.

Fire! Mae, for now you know that is her name

Has conjured fire at her fingertips!

She throws the stick into the metal thing

And soon, it emits a reddish glow.

“Let’s get you warm,” she says, wrapping you up.

Then she sets you down by the fire.

You have only ever seen fire

In the wake of storms. How strange to see it

As comfort, safety and security.

The rain patters softly on the window.

In another room, Mae removes her boots.

She pads, barefoot, into the kitchen.

Her footfalls still sound like distant thunder.

Still, you feel quite safe in her company.

Nobody else has ever been so kind.

Warm and dry, you bask in radiant heat.

Tiny thing. At last, some respite.

You are so small, kept safe and secure

In the capable hands of a giant

Who is ever merciful to small things.

Mae does not keep you here against your will.

You could leave whenever you would wish to.

But out there are the birds, and other things;

Carnivorous mammals who crave your flesh.

Why would you ever want to leave this place?

Here, there is plenty. No need to struggle.

All protection, doting, and affection.

Three meals a day, and curious prodding.

Yes, perhaps Mae owns you. That’s a fair trade

To be able to live in Paradise.

And so it is here where your tale closes.

By fluke, spirited from the cold and damp.

You once thought humans cruel, but now you see

That they are, like you, trying to survive.

You close your eyes, and drift off into sleep.

End.