A mile into the hike, we ran into another stump, who had gotten word of our coming. He offered up for our inspection a mushroom growing out of his side. This mushroom was covered in a powdery white mold, which formed a frail carapace over an interior that was already well into the advanced stages of decay. The cap was partially hollowed out. Had we poked the mushroom with our finger, which we assuredly did not, it would have caved in beneath our touch.

Out of politeness, we stopped to speak briefly with the mushroom, who turned out to be stone deaf. This was no bride for Poison Pie.