larry revene
Fungi
Beneath the surface of the soil, secret networks are growing. Filaments as thin as ghosts spread lightly, touch gently, each fine hair dividing and stretching and dividing again. Invisible, the branching threads of mycelium connect vast tracts of the earth together, as if casting wide nets that wait under our feet to catch us lest we fall.
Above the surface, evidence of their existence. The fruit of their labors grows in plain sight: beautiful round mushrooms, each one as perfect as a cup poured full to brimming with milky brown tea, served at four o’clock in the afternoon.
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