Seen from a helicopter, the river is no longer just a body of water —
it becomes a sentence written slowly by the Earth itself.
It descends from the highlands, carrying silence,
holding in its veins the melt of glaciers,
ancient ash, and the patience of centuries.
Then, at the edge of the ocean, it hesitates —
as if it knows that every meeting is an irreversible passage.
Where fresh water meets salt,
Colours touch without violence,
currents bow to one another.
Nothing is conquest; everything is consent.
From above, humanity disappears —
and that is a relief.
Nature does not need an audience,
only respect.
It creates, transforms, erases, begins again —
without ever signing its work.
This landscape reminds us of a simple truth:
we are not masters of the world,
only passing guests,
occasionally allowed to witness
that rare moment
when the Earth breathes freely.
