It’s mid-November. The trees have let go. The air carries a quiet ache. And somewhere between the falling leaves and the deepening dusk, we begin to notice what still waits.

This reflection moves through raindrops, visarjan, autumn leaves, sakura blossoms — each carrying a quiet lesson about release, rhythm, and return.

Letting go is not always an ending. Sometimes, it’s how we make space for what’s been waiting to be seen.

A meditation on impermanence, tenderness, and the quiet rhythm of becoming.