The trees talk to each other apparently ... they communicate via an interweb of mycelium, the world's biggest single organism. If a tree is being hassled by insects, this internet of fungi lets neighbouring trees know of impending attack, in time to produce a pesticide to ward off the aggressors.
But what happens when the mycelium becomes the enemy? Armillarus luteobobolina attacked the old Marri on the beach track and now it is dead. The beautiful sheaves of orange mushrooms, perfect, succulent, a ladder of fungi, climbing up the craggy bark like marauders up a castle keep. No hot oil poured upon their heads as they cancered the ancient king. They will feast on his bones for another decade.
On the veranda, looking at the Marri tree and thinking about the word anticipointment. Maybe angrypointment would suit. The M word. Mad, sad and dangerous to know. But Oxford tells me the word means 'a woman in control: of animals, children, servants or submissives.' Perfect then. Not flotsam then.
'Marry, sir, they have committed false report; moreover, they have spoken untruths; secondarily, they are slanders; sixth and lastly, they have belied a lady; thirdly they have verified unjust things; and to conclude, they are lying knaves.'
Dogberry knew a thing or two, he did, if only he could get his thoughts in order.
And me, glowering on the veranda, thinking my filthy, disordered thoughts.
A car alarm went off, again. The owner has been out at the mouth, at the ocean, for days now.
A big spider struggled across the concrete, carrying a beetle roughly the same size. The car alarm stopped. The spider shuffled in front of my chair, past my feet. A tiny chocolate-chested wren flashed to my feet, glanced at me with white rimmed eyes and snatched the spider, booty and all.