Sep 04, 2015
I step lightly. Don't wake the ghosts. I adventure in a jungle of rot and ruin. I will see this with fresh eyes, light bringing life to empty spaces. Lost things, broken things, fill up my treasure box. New paint, old paint, bright, crashing into the gloom. Beauty, in it's own right. A canvas for the revolt. An uprising in the forgotten. Climbing to a new perch, a new perspective. Taking awe, in the clutter of life that used to be, a whisper of the past. I marvel at the elegance preserved that would not be, if lived in. Decay that allows new growth. A place to climb, a place to create, a place to see the world, while not being seen. This is my tree house.