Detail Diary, #338

The whimsy of mushrooms is a mere surface current; there is always an undertow of horror mingling with the wonder of mycelium. You feel the chill when you realize what this bumper crop of honey fungus smothering the trunk of a living tree must mean: pathogen. Root rot. Murder feast. Decay creeping up cambium.

I’m very afraid for this tree.

Try not to think of the fungus that will come for you.