Falling apart

I often come down to the loch at the bottom of the garden. A ruined cottage falls apart slowly  by the shore. It's a wonderful hotch potch of falling down things, drift wood, brambles thistles and ferns. Left to its own devises nature always wins and moves in. Outside has come inside and made itself at home. A boat abandoned by the cottage fills with grass. A tiny boat, long since forgotten, nestles in the bottom. Stones and rusty ironwork, a wooden post bleached and weathered.
Nature can also be tidy. It isn't always chaos. I've never seen such a tidy bee! The tiniest tidiest pair of wings  neatly folded in two.