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.