In "Red Bridge to the Floating World," I sought to capture that gossamer threshold where reality dissolves into dream. My vermilion bridge doesn't merely span water—it arches between the world we know and the one we sense just beyond our grasp. The maples whisper their ancient stories through star-shaped leaves, casting shadows that dance like calligraphy across stone. I've always found something profound in how these trees surrender to seasons yet remain eternally themselves—much like the human spirit. Daisies gather at the water's edge in quiet conversation, their white petals like scattered thoughts against the darkness. The still pond holds sky and tree in its liquid embrace, a mirror that both reflects and deepens what it sees. And there—a mother duck guides her downy offspring across the glassy surface. I included this family as testament to life's continuous unfolding, to how we move through this world sometimes carried, sometimes carrying others. Their ripples spread outward, touching everything, changing nothing. These traditions remind us that beauty exists not despite impermanence but because of it. I created this garden not as escape but as invitation—to linger in that rare space where breath slows and thoughts quiet. The path winds, the bridge beckons, the water waits. Choose any entrance you wish. Between Two Worlds lives within each of us, a sanctuary we carry always yet visit too rarely.
