Window to the garden

This painting feels like a trembling window where the rain writes its own secret patterns. Droplets sliding down resemble lines of invisible script, dissolving the world into soft shades of green, white, and pink. Beyond the misted glass lies a garden, though no longer real — more like a memory or a dream, where colors blend as thoughts do to the rhythm of rain. It is not just a landscape, but a state of the soul — quiet, wistful, and tenderly expectant, as if awaiting something fragile and unspoken