The Salt on the Skin

The air near the water always tastes of iron and wet stone. It is a thick, humid weight that clings to the back of your throat, reminding you that the city is breathing even when you are standing perfectly still. I remember the feeling of damp wool against my neck, the way the wind pulls at your clothes as if it wants to carry you toward the horizon. There is a specific vibration in the ground near a harbor, a low hum that travels up through the soles of your feet, vibrating against the bone. It is the sound of a thousand lives moving in unison, a collective pulse that ignores the individual. We are small, fragile things, yet we build these towering, jagged teeth of glass and steel that scrape the belly of the sky. Does the water ever grow tired of holding the reflection of our ambition, or does it simply wait for the tide to wash the concrete memory away?

Ryszard Wierzbicki has captured this immense scale in his photograph titled Hong Kong Bay. The way the structures lean into the sky feels like a physical pressure against the chest. Can you feel the salt spray rising from the water as you look at these giants?