Discreetly tucked away in an obscure corner of the garden lies an unfrequented tree house. Strong winds, rain and snow have unjustly sullied the wood; once varnished into flawlessness. Bottle green moss and coarse lichen adorn the muted walls in place of glossy lacquer and stiff boards block out the light that once streamed in through door and windows. Branches, once neatly trimmed, now viciously claw at the decrepit structure.  Yet a faint ray of sunlight still shines upon the sad edifice, proposing hope in future generations to come.        

 

The damp, skeletal structure stands shakily upon its bare frame, as though unsure whether or not to collapse. A bed of moist ivy lies beneath, as though prepared to cushion its fall. In the background, dank planks of obscure and rotting wood hide the dejected sight while thick branches entwine themselves around one another to form the braided trunk of a tree. A bush adorned with murky, olive coloured leaves presides menacingly in a corner, ready to pounce at any unfortunate enough to pass by.

Standing proud and erect, a rough piece of wood contrasts with a dim, soggy background. Thinly carved lines coarsen the lightly tanned surface while a column, darkened by rain gives the appearance of paintbrush stroke. A strand of thin ivy slowly winds itself around the pillar; a gleaming emerald snake patiently biding its time. Minute raindrops glisten like diamonds against delicately shaped leaves, displaying poisonous elegance.