It was a glimmering dawn that woke the fungus from the night’s blanket. Cold and shrouded was the white roof that seemed tampered with peeling sheets, and underneath were the brown lines that interconnected at the stem, expanding with the roof’s reversing bloom. It was not the four-cornered room that artlessly mocked the potential of distinctive designs. Its essence was transfixed by the complexities of nature’s breath and moved by sunlight’s words and whispers of nourishment. As messy brown and white splotches crowd its canvas, the world sings its beautiful life into existence. Inside is where the room truly came to life: flying, crawling, and creeping were the actions of residents who traveled in and out of those endless lines. Up on the surface is where the larger creatures would land to rest for a minute or two as their vibrating wings would shake the room in a humming manner before taking off once more. By midday, several more rooms sprang from the green blades, which hosted them. From opening dawn to closing dusk, the mushrooms would host from time to time throughout their bloom. Dusk would drag into the night, and the cold would close it once more.
