An abandoned house stands alone on a fog-covered hill, waiting in the dim half-light for the masters who will never return. Its decrepit roof has fallen into disrepair; clouds can be seen through the cracks in the shingles. The empty rooms lie forlorn, remembering the happy times shared in their loving arms long ago.
A green lawn, once manicured to perfection, sprawls across the walkway; the groping fingers search for something to make their own. The weeds grow between the cracks of the sidewalk, once kept in line, now seeking to reclaim lost land. The reaching vines scale the house like robbers, trying to break in to the destitute house. Climbing up the walls, reaching through the cracks, they seek to tear down the humble abode. To regain the land they lost, taken away by the ambition of man, that remains their perpetual goal.
Wherever rests a building abandoned, the green waves are sure to come. Though suppressed, even eradicated by man, they always pop up when least expected. Unrelenting, ever-present, the tide of vegetation moves on and on. They will now stop until they are the masters of the world. When the canopies of trees replace the houses of men, even then they will not be satisfied. They are as hungry as beasts and will never stop growing and spreading. They are eternal.