The Glass House Breeds Ferns

The rusted frame surrenders to the creeping vine, where shattered panes once caught the morning sun. Now, only shadows and the damp earth intertwine, as quiet tendrils reach, their slow work begun.

Forgotten orchids bloom in the untended gloom, their petals bruised by the persistent, heavy air. A velvet moss devours the terracotta room, and nature claims the architecture with no care.

We built this fragile dome to tame the wild, to hold the tropics in a temperate embrace. But seeds untethered by a sudden, fierce wind smiled, and root by root, they occupied our hollow space.