The garden once pristine
is now overrun with weeds. No flowers grow here anymore. Without care, it now
returns to its very nature. The old fence leans over and will fall down one
day. Everything returns to is source. The natural world is the supreme
commander. People are merely scarecrows that eventually rot and blow away in
the wind. Smarter scarecrows maybe, younger scarecrows, but scarecrows
nonetheless and they too will deteriorate and pass into nothingness, yet the
garden will remain in one form or another.
