The Weight of Water

There is a stillness that precedes the movement of water. A bird dips its head, and for a second, the surface is not a boundary but a mirror of intentions. We spend our lives trying to keep our feet dry, forgetting that we are mostly water ourselves. We are heavy with things we do not say, carrying the cold of the morning in our shoulders. To bathe is to shed the day. It is a quiet ritual, performed without an audience, a way of returning to the beginning. The water does not judge the bird. It does not ask why it has come, or where it will go when the light fades. It simply holds the weight, accepts the ripples, and waits for the return of the glass-like calm. We are all waiting for the water to settle. What remains when the ripples finally stop?

Rick Boland has captured this quietude in his image titled Bird Bath. It is a study of a single life finding its own rhythm in the middle of the day. Does the water feel as cold to you as it looks?