Poison Pie, man of the mushroom people loved slime, loved slime in much the same way that a lecher leches, loved slime so madly and so unreservedly and so without judgment or discretion that the love becomes unclean and indecent.

"I absolutely did not call you a lecher," I said to Poison Pie, who had been bent over, peering beneath the edge of a felled log, but who now rose and turned to give me a sullen stare.

Poison Pie shook his head in disappointment and disbelief.

I felt bad then and Poison Pie would have made me feel bad longer for putting him in the same simile as a lecher but a Daddy Longlegs crawled upside-down into slimy underside of a polypore and saved the day.

"Daddy Longlegs, Daddy Longlegs!" shouted Poison Pie.

"Sing the Daddy Longlegs song," I said, hoping that he would totally forget all mention of lechery.

"Daddy Longlegs, Daddy Longlegs!" crooned Poison Pie. His chest billowed out like and accordion and his voice wailed through the National Park. Poison Pie hunched his shoulders and danced around in circles. He patted his thigh and he scared the Daddy Longlegs deep into the shadows. The mushroom, a shelf polypore, stayed to observe the celebration.

Oh boy, we were having a good time then.

mushroom behind mushroom ahead