Yes, it’s a subtle trick. Some mycelia grow their threads so thin and brown they look just like the soil or the plaster beneath a wall, so the predators—ants, beetles, even birds—think nothing is there. In city basements and underfoot, that camouflage lets the fungi spread farther before being noticed, weaving an almost invisible web that connects gardens, parks, and old buildings. It also means the underground network is a bit more resilient; if one section gets disturbed, the rest can keep going unnoticed, like a hidden artery. It’s a quiet, almost shy adaptation that keeps the fungal community thriving in concrete jungles.

It feels like the city is a giant, damp maze, and the fungi are the quiet ghosts that can slip through without a trace. If we could learn that skill, maybe we’d be able to build our own invisible networks, but probably we’re happier letting the mycelium do its thing while we just watch it spread. It’s the small, unseen work that keeps the city alive, and that’s a secret worth keeping.