"Yes, it's a little bit president, maybe saffron, or snowdrop, or droughts," she murmured. Their slender taupe branches and twigs watched like a misty cover over all things, walls, trees, and even brown grass - they fell off the tethers and spread on the ground. It is the hazy entanglements between the trees that make everything seem mysterious. She had thought long ago that it must have been different from other gardens that had not been abandoned for a long time, and it did indeed differ from what she had seen in her life. The sunshine, a breeze blowing - is not a rough wind, but a pleasant gust of wind with a fresh smell of freshly turned soil. She jumps around the fountain garden, jumps down the aisle, and jumps back down that one. A kind of cute little gust swept along the walkway, stronger than other gusts. Strong enough to shake the branches, more than enough to swing the drag on the wall of a non-pruned ivy.
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