The Weight of Water

I remember sitting on a stone bench in Prague, watching the Vltava River move under the cover of darkness. An old man sat down beside me, smelling faintly of pipe tobacco and damp wool. He didn’t look at the city lights or the tourists hurrying across the bridge. He just stared into the black water, watching the way the streetlamps fractured into long, golden ribbons on the surface. He told me that water is the only thing that truly keeps a city’s secrets. It takes the noise of the day, the shouting, the heavy footsteps, and the grinding of wheels, and it turns them into something quiet and shimmering. It holds the reflection of our grandest achievements but never lets them settle. We build our monuments to be permanent, to stand against the march of time, yet we are always drawn to the water to watch them dissolve. Why is it that we find so much peace in seeing our solid world turn into something so fluid and temporary?

Suraj Krishnamurthy Cheemangala has captured this exact feeling in the beautiful image titled The Golden Palace. It is a reminder that even the most imposing structures are softened by the reach of the river. Does the stillness of the water change how you see the city?