Civilizations

Day 22: When I arrived back at the office sopping wet from the knees down, there was no room to doubt that I'd been worshipping at the Temple of Cladonia again. Nothing brings out the life in these strange entities like a shower, and the last to fall here had had a touch of snow amid its plentiful drops. As warm as it was in my cozy corner, the cold dampness of my uniform pantlegs chilled my shins, never mind that I'd left a trail of fir needles on the stairway carpet.

Out behind the public buildings and the maintenance bays at Longmire, the Nisqually River flows at the base of a rock outcrop populated with one of the most easily accessible collections of lichen I know. The residents of Cladonia Central are a varied lot, living in perfect harmony with colonies of bryophytes and other kindred spirits. Not a one of them objects to the damp or cold; in fact, they revel in it, and if I am to take advantage of their hospitality, it would be unseemly for me to complain against the very things they enjoy the most. That said, I really should start wearing rainpants when I go a-calling on them.