Water

A jar of murky brown water on a wood floor
A hand holds a small jam jar with a white lid, full of water and a mist of green algae on the inside of the jar.
A narrow vertical scroll of printed text is photographed on a wood floor. It reads: The bank of the Rio Grande has become a desert as the river shrinks. You come down from under the trees and you're on an expansive silt beach, peppered with tumbleweeds, with invasive salt cedar, with hopeful baby cottonwoods, with the soft streaks of animal movements drawn into the sand. Your feet sink in as you walk. You sit on your heels at the edge of the water, a strip of mud stamped completely with dog prints. It smells salty and alive. It's ancient and beloved. And the full weight of the river's disappearance hits you in your gut. Just a few inches deep, flowing slowly and quietly, thinly sidestepping soft brown islands. You remember the river as it was, at a different moment. The geese fly by. It feels like a lot to ask to take this jar of water. But I asked, and I dipped the jar in. A moment in the flow of the river. The moment 9:56 am on October 16th. Consider all the intentional and incidental decisions that lead this water, these microbes, this silt and sand to end up inside this moment, inside this jar. Here for you, a moment preserved.
A handwritten note is photographed against wood with peeling blue paint. The note is flipped so both sides are legible, and reads: Schuylkill River January 2021 Exact date and time collected forgotten. I gathered this water from along the bike trail in the part where the steps lead down to the water, between two bridges, one for cars and one for trains. I am humbled still by all the green here, this park which is at once ornate and dilapidated, broken and maintained. I remember feeling really grateful, potholes full of water, water deemed not safe to swim in. Looking into it, you can see trash covered by algae. Today it’s February 8 and it’s snowy and the river is slushy and kinda green reflective, the same mint green as this string and that many public bridges get painted.
A tiny glass vial of water with a white plastic cap is photographed against a white background. The vial has a narrow roll of paper with illegible handwriting wrapped around it and tied on with a mint green thread.
A hand holds a glass spice containerfilled with water against a white background. The container is cylindrical, with a black plastic lid. There is an illegible note written on translucent paper wrapped around the container, and tied with gold thread.
A note is handwritten in cursive on tracing paper with black ink, against a white background. It reads: "Water sample from Riviere des Prairies, collected on NE corner of Ile de la Visitacion, 8 November 2020 at 2:30 pm. I returned to a spot I had walked to in June, where I found a dead goose floating in the water beneath a willow tree. Half-rotten and feathers plucked, it looked like a discarded mop until, up close, it suddenly resolved into something that used to be alive. This time, the goose was gone and the water was clean. Also gone were the teeming insects and birds of summer. I could hear the roar of traffic to my left, people heading out of the city into the suburbs, crossing the water by bridge. "