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WORDS
 

CHANGING TIMES

It's mid-September, the time of year when great explosions of yellow fungi appear
around the base of dead trees, seemingly overnight. Nearby, and all around, clumps of pale Indian pipes are pushing up through the pine needles. And in one patch of dappled sunlight under a pitch pine over on Portanimicut Road, the Rescue Squad and I came upon a teeny-tiny fairyland, a mossy greensward scattered with weensy conical-capped mushrooms.  Read More 

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