Beneath the Rush
A waterfall in motion, a rock at rest. This image plays with contrast—soft water flowing like draped silk, captured with a long exposure, against the stubborn stillness of a moss-covered boulder. The rock doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, doesn’t even flinch—like it’s been listening to the waterfall’s endless monologue for centuries.
This is one of those places I come back to again and again, camera or not. The light filters gently through the canopy above, the greens deepen after rain, and the water always finds its way down. The scene is constant, but never the same twice.
A waterfall in motion, a rock at rest. This image plays with contrast—soft water flowing like draped silk, captured with a long exposure, against the stubborn stillness of a moss-covered boulder. The rock doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, doesn’t even flinch—like it’s been listening to the waterfall’s endless monologue for centuries.
This is one of those places I come back to again and again, camera or not. The light filters gently through the canopy above, the greens deepen after rain, and the water always finds its way down. The scene is constant, but never the same twice.
A waterfall in motion, a rock at rest. This image plays with contrast—soft water flowing like draped silk, captured with a long exposure, against the stubborn stillness of a moss-covered boulder. The rock doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, doesn’t even flinch—like it’s been listening to the waterfall’s endless monologue for centuries.
This is one of those places I come back to again and again, camera or not. The light filters gently through the canopy above, the greens deepen after rain, and the water always finds its way down. The scene is constant, but never the same twice.