The old house, with its wildly overgrown garden, was silent, secretive. Metal on metal echoed over the waves of time, only to be muffled in the muted sunlight. The stone walls, worn and scarred as they were, hinted the epic tales of days past, the ivy reaching out to hide it. Bloodstained poppies littered the ground, the feral brush threatening to overrun them. The house itself stood tall and proud, emerging from the shade of the large oak tree. With its north end caved in and its roof nearly gone, the remaining bricks, though charred and weather beaten, challenged the world to its worst, for it has made its pack with nature. No longer will it be subject of civilization and its strife, rather, supported by its green brethren, it will return to the earth, as do all things in their time.