Enveloped by the calm of the garden, she looked like a doll as she sat upon the small engawa. Her muscles relaxed and eyelids rested half-open, it was sight rather unbecoming of Akito. Back against a wooden pillar and right leg dangling off above the still water of a pond, the only movement visible from this doll was the twirling of a blue iris, detached from it's origin, in thin fingers.
Akito's mind was lost in itself. As the raked sand formed patterns around settings of jagged rocks and pruned flowers, her thoughts raced. They followed the curves and straight lines in the sand; they turned, twisted. And just as the grooves in the sand met their anterior positions, Akito's mind repeated itself in circular thoughts.
Round and round we go, up and down an endless spiral.
Without even the foot steps of another to be heard, nothing was there besides herself to shatter tranquility. And with a gentle breeze that scattered particles from the ground and swept strands of black hair across her face, Akito twitched. Indignation flashed across her face with tightened lips and glaring eyes.
Oh, how she hoped deep down that her bird would hasten in its flight to her, lest he stumble along the edge of safety.