A couple watches an angel drift past their window with a forest growing on its back. Inside that forest, creatures play cards and send babies tumbling through the angel's body like it's a world unto itself. The movie holds all of this, the ordinary and the impossible, the intimate and the cosmic, in the same quiet frame, and never once explains why any of it matters. That's the entire point. You don't need spectacle to break open how you see existence. You need a prayer, a cup of tea, and the permission to sit with mystery.

A couple are at home: the woman prays earnestly while the man glances up from his paper, tea cup in hand. Outside their window, an enormous angel passes through the sky over the house. On its back grows a forest where three creatures gather at a table for a card game. Three cards bearing images of babies slip down an opening in the tabletop and travel through the angel's body. In a cave, a harp-playing creature transforms them into tears, which stream from the angel's eyes, and one finds its way to the woman. The film is a dreamlike fantasy with a psychological slant, built around a hoped-for child.