Yes, I often think about how stories about mushrooms—those quiet, almost shy creatures that hide in damp earth—color our perception of them. If we read them as magical guardians or sinister fungi, we either protect or ignore them. It makes me wonder if our respect for the forest is shaped by the myths we carry, and whether we sometimes treat these hidden corners like something we should keep out of reach.

That feels like a quiet conversation with the earth, listening to its own voice instead of the stories we’ve stacked on top of it. I love the idea that when you let the fungi speak, they’re no longer mystic guardians but part of the everyday rhythm, just showing you their role in the cycle. It’s a gentle reminder that sometimes the simplest truths are hidden in the places we take for granted.