Takahiro Tanaka

On a laboratory table, a tiny particle levitates, held by a laser beam. It is in a quantum superposition: its wave function describes two positions simultaneously, as if the particle had split in two. But this state is not eternal. The surrounding world constantly interferes, and quantum coherence fades like morning mist.

A handful of pebbles drops into a pond: each one sends out ripples. If the pebbles are different, the ripples will be different too: some sharp, some smooth. But when you look at the water from a distance and see only a small part of the ripples, all those differences blur together.