On the town notice board, decorated with live moss and what looks like pink crayon drawings of mushrooms, a peculiar advertisement is posted upon some piece of parchment.
Birth.
“Squint. Draw your wasteful drooling eyes to a time before it divided itself into years and days, when unherely claws of stone scraped our realm to form mountains (agonised screeching soil: Bleeding), came heralding the birth of us mulched saints. We, blissful nature that like the umbilical cord around the world’s neck, promised to choke out folk before this haphazard babe of ruin could take its first breath. Yet, before much time passed, with the rocks upon rocks upon rocks upon rocks your call homes, that choking cord was unduly snipped, and the child now toddles loose. You unknowingly took a promise and unpromisified it. Yet, Rot only takes your dead, Moss patiently waits, lingering in shadows, and Mildew merely watches, heralding the coming of spore. Remember, your kings cannot inherit the world; that which consumes the discarded is always crawling forth. The promise will be kept.
Signed,
The Mulched Saints”
McIvy’s Moss and Trash Emporium (name pending) will soon open in a town near you (this one)! If you, too, love discarded items, want to get rid of your trash for a little bit of cash, or want to talk about how utterly awesome detritivores and other such things are for the health of your personal slice of nature, don’t let your buttocks rot away in a chair and come find me!
