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All around the garden is motion, live moments swaying in the waning twilight breeze. Rooted in their individual moments the plants bud to bob about their snowcone of the garden, curious pinheads on a map of curated species and finely tended fixtures.
The selves within the plants seem to reach outwards from some eternal self to which they take root as buds and extend. Possibly unaware of the form they maintain, the self others within the tended bounds recognize is as the fountain the centered in the garden, flowing in every direction; however, the fountain is as source pulsing outwards while the flora are as sinks soaking up all with which they interact.
Common critters scurry about yet their forms too could pour into vast selves rooted beyond the known soil.