You are surrounded by a number of tree trunks which have grown together, curiously, to form a sort of natural building. Here on the 'inside' you notice that the 'ceiling' is none other than a canopy of leaves and branches, thickly situated, yet not thick enough to keep the weather out. Little spaces between the trees act as tall windows to the world beyond, allowing you to see the weather, and sometimes feel it as it blows through. In the middle of the natural building is a stump. At first it appears to be the left over of a tree chopped down. Then you look at it more closely and notice that it grew that way, and never actually formed a tree. It is, more accurately, a root on the surface, rising up in the shape of a stump. Vines of ivy swirl around it, rooted to it and yet a part of it. The dark green leaves move as though in a breeze, and the ends push out with bright, living young green. Ever growing, and yet ever the same size, the ivy captures the imagination with its paradox.