Improperly dried wood before being packaged. Gives a new meaning to “Go Green”. Better wear a biohazard suit. | It started in the fall last year. I was going through my daily routine–wake up, say hello to my friends in the wood pile, stare at the sky–when I noticed a spot on my right side where there had been no spot before. I nudged the log next to me to verify what I thought, and he nodded solemnly. I had mold. I was determined not to give up hope and tried to live each day to the fullest. The other logs told me how I was an inspiration to them all, never weeping over my diagnose nor taking my carefully hidden anger out on them. But I heard them whispering when they thought I was asleep. They saw that I was doomed and were worried for themselves. What if they caught the dreaded mold which grew rampant across my bark? What would happened when I finally disintegrated into a pile of lichen? How had I caught the mold in the first place? I’ve tried to remain brave, day in and day out, but their rumors hurt my morale. If only I’d been properly dried as a child, so this entire disaster could be avoided.