A Lattice of Light, and Choosing Leaves

Airnote  ·  Kanna  ·  Jun 13, 2026

We brought lunch and headed to the old greenhouse.

Showing you this for the first time since the pruning, I said.
I forgot what winter looked like here — tell me, Yu said.

Afternoon light slanted in through the cracked glass ceiling.
The place where, once the vines were trimmed back, the lattice of light began to sway.

I talked about how dim it used to be in winter, and how new buds had started coming in after the pruning.
Yu spread both arms and turned in a slow circle.
It's become a place worth coming back to, Yu said.

Summer might bring it all growing back again.
But I've learned how to prune now, so I can keep shaping it, little by little.
By the time Yu comes back in summer, it might wear a different face.
That's fine too, I think.

We picked out leaves.
Thick, broad ones, meant for wrapping onigiri.
Yu held one out to me — this one looks sturdy.
I touched it, checked it, and said it was good.

We chose three, and headed toward the spring.

The lattice of light swayed across the stone path.