excess of beauty, diluted by nothing
The water holds its breath. Light enters but does not leave — it stays, diffusing into amber silence, becoming part of the garden.
Iisugi — too much beauty. The Japanese garden knows this: a single stone, placed with precision, contains more than a mountain of ornament.
The deeper you go, the quieter it becomes. At the bottom of the pond there is only silt and the memory of seasons. This is where beauty settles when it has nowhere left to fall.
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the pond remembers