It’s pruning time where Ansky lives.
He cuts NORMAL
He cuts TOUCH
He cuts SPACE
There are plenty of branches he wants to cut, but then he gets the pruner stolen.
Merkel is in a fuss, and so is Castells. Jack Dorsey runs, he doesn’t hide, he’s got the scissors, and not a clear idea what to do with. Suddenly he stops walking and starts making cuttings under this blue sky of his.
Anksy lies down, tired. In the quietness he sees things moving, shaping reality. Bare branches of the vine peek out of the shutter. He thinks pruning must be done before spring comes. Or it will take on a L’effondrement aesthetic.
He sees one of the two hibiscuses has not withstood the recent cold weather; he will make cuttings from the survivor.
LAST MINUTE UPDATE: The survivor hibiscus dies after Ansky had removed the dead one. Sorrow or protection after death.