I believe in the existence of fourth dimension, where mushrooms hide in the dry seasons.
How crazy I am to have a bee in my bonnet, the mushrooms remain silent, silent and absent, except for the big black ants. But they are too busy to bother about my presence.
A heavy load their pencil, they are creating a waveform of their life, though I am only seeing a moment.
The ups and downs of the pattern synchronize with their rises and falls on the slope.
I am a minute dot along the waveform, though very big body size as compared to theirs.