To me trees are not still or static — they breathe, creep, and sigh through their leaves and blossoms. There is a bittersweet beauty swept about the ephemeral blossoms of the cherry tree. The Sakura tells its stories — wise and fleeting in the wind, the petals whisper past.

It is a movement from “Mono no aware” along with its counterpart “The Delicates Converge.”

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