The toadstools were the flowers that blossomed in the close-knit community of trees.
At once I imagined a city shaped as the toadstool of forest days, the tiniest of footprints with a bold umbrella dome.
The toadstools were as autumn leaves that dreamed themselves ever higher onto their own pedestal of creamy white.
The toadstools were little worlds of their own, mirco-habitats that spoke to the heart of bright and cheery homes, of childhood fantasies.
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