The Mycorrhizal Network
The Mycorrhizal Network
“Flowers fade and decay through wintry hours—waiting for rebirth.”
Beneath the forest’s separate skin,
white threads connect each breathing thing—
fungal highways no eye can witness,
trading sugar for rain.
The Douglas fir feeds the hemlock
when shade has stolen all its sun,
carbon passed from root to root like gossip,
like care without a name.
The mother tree knows when her seedlings starve
and sends them what they need to live—
nutrients flowing through the dark communion
that makes the forest one.
This is the conversation
we mistake for silence up above:
ten thousand root-tips touching, speaking
in the syntax of soil.
When the chainsaw bites through bark and wood,
the network feels the amputation,
chemical alarms flood through the mycelium—
warning: something cuts, something dies.
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