Drops of water cut through sun rays casting down across the lush green forest floor. As if caught within a summer sun shower I watched the droplets as they appeared to nearly pause mid-air, briefly glistening before plummeting into the fern carpet. Moss bloated with life soaked up the excess moisture, forming a suction beneath my shoes as I placed my weight to walk over. Like ringing a saturated sponge the water oozed out with each step, leaving behind a water filled footprint mold. Only so briefly did my flooded footprints remain, as the resilient moss greedily soaked up the tiny pools, quickly recoiling back up into a swollen mass of green.

Climbing up to the top of a high-dive board, standing just along the edge, I was able to overlook the flourishing forest. Every seam and crack within the indoor pool room was host to some type of thriving plant form. The entire scene looked of a botany project gone haywire. Fern fronds extended up between faded orange and white plastic weaves in a pair of reclining chairs situated about the edge of the pool. The deep end stagnant with a stew of dark murky water was tinted with just a hint of green, the color bleeding down into the water from the mold stained cement retaining walls.

A couple of lounge chairs half sunk with the deep end slurry served as an artificial reef, providing a breeding pond for which mosquito larvae to play. The chairs if fished out could be passed as brand new; the plastic build proving resistant to years of decay remained as a hideous reminder of 1970's decor. The entire room was like some type of greenhouse time capsule warp-zone. Plentiful plant life blooming amongst a 1970's backdrop; perhaps the chance result of nature and design decaying in tandem or maybe some type of mad science experiment gone completely right.