Water

ماء

My arrival in the mountains is heralded by a strange echo that reverberates throughout the slopes of the high peaks.

An echo that resembles the sound of tension travelling down a steel cable—tshuuw, tshuuw...

The crisp mountain air forms a sort of prism through which all the minute details of the scree slopes of the surrounding mountains become crystal clear. The strange echo reverberates again and a strange shimmer, moving fast against the side of the mountain, catches my eye.

Something is moving through the mountains causing some sort of refraction… I aim my telescopic lens, but I am already too late. Whatever it was that had sounded off has moved on behind the slopes of the mountains.

I focus my attention on the beautiful stream near me.

Water comes down from the mountain, at the bottom of a deep gorge only recently cut out of the bedrock by a violent flash flood. The gorge lay scattered with stones—from massive boulders dislodged from deep within the mountainside, to smaller rocks, little pebbles, gravel and sand.

The water flows downhill with great speed, rushing over the small rocks and little stones with an overbearing sound, sparkling brilliance and marvellous flickering.

With the high sun hitting the stream at a sublime ninety degree angle, the ice-cold mountain water acts like a magnifying glass revealing the most minute details and celebrating the sharp specks of colour below the fast-babbling surface—Jade, turquoise, emerald, aegean, ochre, crimson, …