Flowing Water — 流水

Water, or perhaps ice—something that has taken form is flowing.

Horizontal streaks pull the eye across the surface. Light skims the top of the current, glinting where the flow is fastest, and darkens into depth below. The upper field moves; the lower field absorbs. Between them, shapes appear in the stream—fragments with edges, momentarily distinct, carried sideways by the current.

The form will not last. Whatever has hardened into shape is already dissolving, its outline loosening as it moves, returning to the flow from which it came. This is the nature of flowing water: it permits form only briefly. Everything it carries, it eventually reclaims.

The movement here differs from the burst that opens the series. That was eruption—water breaking a surface from below. This is passage: steady, lateral, indifferent. Matter passing and never pausing, form and formlessness exchanging places within a single continuous current.