Beneath this suspended garden, a solitary girl stands, her figure draped in a tattered kimono dyed in faded indigo. Her hand stretches upward, fingers brushing the air just beneath the lowest blossom, which dips tantalizingly close yet remains eternally out of reach. Her face, half- veiled in shadow, carries a quiet ache, mirrored by the faint reflection of cherry petals in her wide, glassy eyes. Around her, the ground is littered with fallen blooms, their petals disintegrating into shimmering dust that rises like fireflies, merging with the ethereal haze cloaking the scene. The grid’s rigid geometry contrasts with the organic chaos below: gnarled tree roots emerge from the cracked soil, tangled like veins, while ghostly tendrils of mist curl around the girl’s ankles. Light spills through the blossoms, casting intricate lace- like shadows that dance across her skin and the barren earth, each shadow sharp yet fleeting. The air hums with impermanence, the silence broken only by the imagined rustle of petals and the faint, mournful chime of distant wind bells
