Outside subway stations, willow branches appear like quiet little rebellions. Stalls decorated with ribbons and dried herbs. A businessman in a tailored coat stops to buy one. A teenager in headphones carries hers like a sword. A grandmother adjusts her scarf and nods to the sky.

Some walk into church, others just pass by. But almost everyone holds the same thing: a branch that connects the old world and the new.

Maybe they don’t know every meaning behind the tradition. Maybe it doesn’t matter. On this day, the city breathes a little softer. The branches whisper between the concrete: spring is here, and you’re not alone.