The River That Remembers

Water does not hurry, yet it arrives everywhere. We think of the river as a path, a way to get from one shore to another, but it is really a long, slow conversation with the earth. It carries the silt of mountains and the debris of cities, indifferent to the weight of either. To sit upon the water is to surrender the illusion of control. The current dictates the pace; the oarsman merely negotiates the terms. There is a specific loneliness in being surrounded by a moving surface, a reminder that we are only ever passing through. We leave no tracks on the surface, no scars on the deep. We are like the breath on a cold window—present for a moment, then dissolving into the grey air. Does the river recognize the faces that drift across its skin, or are we all just shadows in the flow?

Shahnaz Parvin has captured this rhythm in her work titled People to the Flowing Waters. It is a quiet testament to the weight of a journey. Does the water feel heavier to you, or lighter?