The Weight of the Crossing

We build structures to reach what we cannot touch. A pier is a promise made to the water, a thin line of wood and stone stretching into the unknown. It is a place of departures, but more importantly, a place of waiting. We stand at the edge, looking toward the horizon, expecting the world to reveal itself. It rarely does. Instead, the tide shifts, the wood rots, and the salt air eats away at our certainty. We are always between two shores, tethered to the land yet pulled by the pull of the deep. There is a quiet dignity in this suspension. To remain on the edge is to accept that we are only guests in the landscape. We leave our footprints, we build our paths, and eventually, the water claims the space again. What remains when the traveler finally turns back toward the shore?

Tanmoy Saha has captured this stillness in his image titled The Moheshkhali Jetty. It reminds me that every journey begins with a single, steady step over the void. Does the water look the same from the other side?