That's walking through an armpit, is what that is.
What that means, for those of you who live in temperate climes, is that everything is wet.
Sure, some of it can be pretty.
But the grass on the Woodside is being choked out by weeds, the plants are growing gangly and untended, and whole swaths of vegetation have surrendered to repeated canine stampedes, yet I've somehow managed to grow fungus the size of dinner plates.
These things grow like other people's children—bigger and more monstrous every time you attempt to annihilate them.
Nothing is free from the assault of moisture.
And just a few weeks ago, this appeared outside a neighborhood house of worship.
Should I be worried?