02-04-2020, 09:30 PM
[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; line-height: 150%; color: #494949; font-family: karla; font-size: 8pt; letter-spacing: 0.2px; word-spacing: 1px; margin-top: 10px;"]the greenhouse was something of wonders , he had to admit.
victorian glass windows that once shed in light , now dismantled . some windows were even as far as shattered ; worn , abandoned , abused from years of neglect. vines wield and ravel in places they can reach nearly snakelike , blocking out what little light attempted to scrabble it's way inside. only now was there enough luminescence to make out the words in his beloved encyclopedia , but if there was any speckle of life beyond the grass and the greenery that encompassed it . . . it would not survive any longer. sad , but solitary.
mitchell wishes he could save it , but he fears he doesn't have enough resources. he could ask for them ; scrap up just enough material to revise the ruins. but he doesn't want to . he fears that , if he does , others would become captivated — as he undoubtedly had — by what he'd found . they'd storm in , demolish the wisp of almost nothing . that , or at the very least , it'd become one of their gathering spots , no longer to be a place for solitude . a place for peace . as much as he'd love to save it , he instead has to compromise. nature worked in extraordinary ways. he had to learn to put his trust in them.
one thing's for sure: he trusted nature far more than he trusted mankind.
when he wants to get away from his worries — including that of fatherhood — he'll find himself here. usually , it's when vince sleeps in , as a growing body should and he'll lounge there in the ruins until the sun rises ; reads when the rays of sunlight begin to peak its way through. today is no different. legs bunched up to his chest , he does just that. quietly reads , eyes following the familiarity of every sentence. it's nothing new , but he especially likes to read it every time he is somewhere new. that way he knows what to look out for. black mangrove , cordyline , ficus. how nice would it be if he found something to add into his collection.
victorian glass windows that once shed in light , now dismantled . some windows were even as far as shattered ; worn , abandoned , abused from years of neglect. vines wield and ravel in places they can reach nearly snakelike , blocking out what little light attempted to scrabble it's way inside. only now was there enough luminescence to make out the words in his beloved encyclopedia , but if there was any speckle of life beyond the grass and the greenery that encompassed it . . . it would not survive any longer. sad , but solitary.
mitchell wishes he could save it , but he fears he doesn't have enough resources. he could ask for them ; scrap up just enough material to revise the ruins. but he doesn't want to . he fears that , if he does , others would become captivated — as he undoubtedly had — by what he'd found . they'd storm in , demolish the wisp of almost nothing . that , or at the very least , it'd become one of their gathering spots , no longer to be a place for solitude . a place for peace . as much as he'd love to save it , he instead has to compromise. nature worked in extraordinary ways. he had to learn to put his trust in them.
one thing's for sure: he trusted nature far more than he trusted mankind.
when he wants to get away from his worries — including that of fatherhood — he'll find himself here. usually , it's when vince sleeps in , as a growing body should and he'll lounge there in the ruins until the sun rises ; reads when the rays of sunlight begin to peak its way through. today is no different. legs bunched up to his chest , he does just that. quietly reads , eyes following the familiarity of every sentence. it's nothing new , but he especially likes to read it every time he is somewhere new. that way he knows what to look out for. black mangrove , cordyline , ficus. how nice would it be if he found something to add into his collection.