An expanse of woven greenery ripples concentrically outward like a pixelated sea of diamonds or squares abutted in tiled pattern. Or dark olive waves alternated with lime leaves of grass. But unnaturally as if CAD-drawn and chemically sprayed.
Dread Scott on the floor sits a platformed structure, a Jasper Johns ziggurat if you will in memoriam of Old Glory. Off the wall and four times the actual scale, its height stands maybe waist level allowing for right-angled circumnavigation. Outside a sign conceptually warns to keep off the lawn.
Underneath rises the rising sun.