Where bark thickens and rain soaks slow into age-darkened trunks, the Cluas na Coille take shape—broad, ear-like shelves stacked along the bodies of trees like the pages of a book too patient to be read. They do not bloom quickly, nor vanish suddenly. Their rhythm is that of centuries, rising in the layered stillness of groves too old for names. In Tír na nÓg, they are not called curiosities, but keepers—reminders that even trees may bear quiet records beneath their skin.
These fungi do not feed greedily. They grow where bark has softened from time, not trauma. Their form is firm and dry, often pale tan or soft grey, occasionally streaked with ochre or silver where minerals gather. Each new layer fans out above the last, forming stacked crescents that mimic wind-carved stone or the contour of a listening ear. Some trees bear dozens; others host only one. Their placement feels purposeful, though it is only the tree’s body answering gravity and stillness.
Cluas na Coille are sometimes called “stillgrowths” by woodland caretakers. When found on standing trees, they are seen as a sign that the tree has reached its final phase—not dying, but entering long rest. The fungus begins the earliest work of returning that form to the land, gently softening the wood from within while preserving the bark’s shape and balance. In this way, they are **translators of form**—not destroyers, but gentle stewards of transformation.
Unlike faster-growing fungi, Cluas na Coille are almost impossible to dislodge by hand. Their hold is not aggressive, but absolute—a slow weld between decay and structure. In winter, they hold frost on their upper edges, and in spring, they sometimes collect pollen like a shallow dish left beneath a blooming bough. Birds do not feed on them. Insects rarely disturb them. They are part of the tree, once present—accepted and unchallenged.
In some regions of Tír na nÓg, it is customary to leave messages carved near trees bearing Cluas na Coille, not for the fungus, but for the space itself. These sites are chosen not for visibility, but *longevity*. The fungus, by growing, marks a point of stillness in the life of a tree—a moment where change begins slowly, and continues even more slowly still. To leave a mark near one is to trust that someone, someday, may return and find it.
Cluas na Coille grow almost exclusively on mature or declining trees, most commonly those native to deep forests with low disturbance and ample moisture. They prefer trunks that have begun natural hollowing—often oak, elm, or beech—and form where outer bark has softened due to rain, wind erosion, or fungal succession. Unlike more aggressive decomposers, Cluas na Coille do not initiate decay, but follow it. Their presence signals a stable microclimate with balanced moisture and temperature, and they often coexist with mosses and lichen on the same surface. In Tír na nÓg, they are found more frequently in ancestral groves or along well-worn paths where the presence of long-standing beings has slowed environmental cycles. They contribute primarily to **structural weakening for eventual recycling**, while also acting as spore mats for slower-growing fungal colonies nearby.
