The fallen tree knew all along it would have to be patient. Nine years went by, and it was still settling into the cycle of decay. The uppermost leaves were first to go. They dried out, lost their color, and were easy prey of light gusts and animals climbing over them.
The leaves closest to the ground were weighed down by years of summer rains, pressed together into an earthy casserole thanks to the work of bacteria and insects. The topping, a blanket of dry mulch, concealed a thick, nutrient-rich layer of slime. Earthworms, beetles, and armadillo bugs made the goo their home.
Winter snows broke the more delicate branches, collapsing them. Their bark split and peeled, leaving the slender stems to splinter and disintegrate. The larger branches eventually gave way and fell to either side of the tree’s massive trunk like arms broken off at the shoulders. Redtopped soldier moss battled yellow ochre lichen for space on remaining bits of bark. Rain washed the root ball clean. Woodland creatures burrowed under and into the wiry tangle. They made their nests and dens and laid their eggs and birthed their babies. Year after year they helped to break the tree down until it and the surrounding earth became the perfect breeding ground for mushroom spores, wind-borne and carried in on squirrel and chipmunk feet, an ideal environment for opportunistic mycelium to send filaments of hyphae out to reach for the decaying wood and wait for the fruiting season to begin.