The Weight of Water
The memory of summer is not a sight, but the sharp, metallic tang of a garden hose and the sudden, shocking cold against the skin. It is the feeling of heavy, wet cotton clinging to the shoulders and the way the air turns thick and sweet when the sun finally dips behind the fence. My feet remember the uneven grit of concrete, the way it holds the day’s heat even as the water pools in the hollows of the ground. There is a specific rhythm to splashing—a chaotic, rhythmic slapping that vibrates through the soles of the feet and settles in the chest. It is a language of gasps and sudden, shivering laughter that needs no translation. We spend our lives trying to return to that state of total immersion, where the world is nothing more than the temperature of the water and the safety of a hand nearby. Does the body ever truly lose the memory of being weightless, or is it always waiting for the next drop to fall?
Sébastien Beun has captured this exact sensation in his beautiful image titled Happiness. It feels like a sudden splash of cool water on a sweltering afternoon. Can you feel the spray against your own skin?
