I had penetrated through the trees during one of my usual rounds premature to look for mushrooms. These
my walks are a natural oxygen to my mind.
A leaf, the bark of a tree, the sky brilliant blue, contrasting with the green mountains of the Apennines, a lengthy procession of ants, a play of light and shadow in the bushes, away from my mind the problems of waste left by ordinary life, are the panacea that my heart claim forcefully at intervals as short as possible.
There I was, therefore, to wander in the woods, when I saw a small cluster of leaves wrapped round, a few fingers from the ground, the base of a young brown the diameter of a pinky.
Sometimes the mushrooms grow under the thick foliage fallen and failing to drilling, lifting the swell so showy.
But this small lump had something strange and curious shook him a bit 'with the stick. He came out
the little head of a red octopus.
He stared at me with big eyes, deep blacks and a small nose quivered in trying to understand, sniffing, who had caused the earthquake in his home.
He climbed a little on the young tree and stood up to my face, a foot from my eyes, watching with curiosity myself still as a statue and completely enraptured.
than I wanted to pick him up on my hand!
But I dared not even blink.
him, slowly and without any fear, "replied to climb and stood still for a moment to give me one last look, with a look of reproach for having disturbed his rest, and disappeared amid the high foliage.
I got to know a goblin of the forest.
A basket full of mushrooms I was gratified by less than magical encounter with the goblin red.
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