When you trim away the excess of apparent lightness, what reveals itself beneath is a fathomless starry expanse. A tailored gentleman pushing a vintage manual lawn mower across a solitary cloud floating in the deep blue. Behind the spinning blades, he leaves no freshly cut grass, but a stark path of dark, star-studded cosmos sliced through the mist. An ordinary domestic chore transforms into a metaphysical act of unraveling the fabric of existence. As one trims away the haze of perception, do they reveal a brighter daylight, or the magnificent infinite night resting beneath?