In an old growth forest, a millenia passes in a heartbeat. A thousand spores painted in the wind. Ancient life, grown and decayed, feeds the fertile ground.
But this paradise plays tricks on human minds. “Tree, grass, soil,” humans think. Here, nothing is one thing.
Threads, like ceaseless highways, run beneath the forest floor. Mycelium, infinitely connecting the underground, performs nature’s alchemy; converting many into one.
Here, death does not exist. Only beginning. From spore to root to stem to spore and on a mushroom never ends.
In the tangled soils of untouched land, a thousand years of intertwining blurs the lines between the oak and the pine, the mulberry and the fern.
An unseen union that makes the flowers bigger. Nectar sweeter. Air cleaner.
It breathes life into the body of the land. Everything alive cycles through the Kingdom Fungi, the mother kingdom. It is an essential circle. An invisible world. One that is dangerous to dismantle.