Dead boughs were scattered about like ichthyosauri in a museum, and beyond them were perishing woodbine stems resembling old ropes.
From the other window all she could see were more trees, jacketed with lichen and stockinged with moss.

At their roots were stemless yellow fungi like lemons and apricots, and tall fungi with more stem than stool.

Next were more trees close together, wrestling for existence, their branches disfigured with wounds resulting from their mutual rubbings and blows.

It was the struggle between these neighbors that she had heard in the night.

Beneath them were the rotting stumps of those of the group that had been vanquished long ago, rising from their mossy setting like decayed teeth from green gums.