How Long to Fill It Up? How Long to Empty?
(An exploration on borders, time, and queer ecologies.)
The Narva River draws a line.
People are stopped
While birds fly, wind moves,
and seeds scatter across.
I start walking.
Not with the flow, but against it.
Moving upstream becomes a way of thinking about time.
I scoop water into a vessel, carry it, then pour it back in — a small loop.
Not to change the river, but to listen to it.
To feel how it holds, but also leaks.
This land has been filled before —
With machines, noise, and smoke,
and turned into ash mountains.
This is not just about a place.
It is about the systems we build to separate, control, and claim.
And about what happens when those systems collapse —
When rivers keep flowing,
and orchids bloom where no one is looking.