She must have been waiting here for her lover. Apricot blossoms drift...they cling to her in the moonlight. She floats on the pond, a shadow.

Droplets remain on the wood bridge.

With a sigh, the old man carries the young girl to the gurney, gently covering her with a sheet. Now, he whispers, she can wait forever.

neglected
from the flowering tree—
a broken branch