A Reflection on Still Water

Every night, our routine was the exact same. We went out for our usual evening walk, following the same path we had taken for the past few days. And every single night, I stared at the exact same patch of water. It sat there completely still, catching the moonlight across its surface like a dark mirror. For the past few days, I kept telling myself I was going to stop and take the shot. Every time we passed it, I made a mental note, but the group kept moving, or the timing felt slightly off, so I kept pushing it to the next evening. There is something funny about reflections. Humans spend an absurd amount of energy trying to control how they reflect—checking glass storefronts, adjusting clothes, worrying about how they appear to everyone else around them. Water does not care about any of that effort. It just sits there silently, taking the light from a giant rock in the sky and throwing it right back at us without a single thought. On this particular night, the water was unusually calm. The moonlight hit the surface just right, laying a sharp line of light straight across the stillness. We finally paused long enough for me to step up and actually take the photo I had been thinking about for days. I took the picture, stepped back into step, and we carried on with our walk. It only took a second, but it was satisfying to finally cross it off my mind.