Shayan Afzal

We approached the bridge with an unhurried pace, as if the mist that veiled its grand arches also slowed time itself. The world around us seemed softened, edges blurred by the fog that rose gently from the bay. The bridge, though partially obscured, stood with a quiet majesty, its deep red gradually emerging as we neared, like a memory surfacing from the depths of the mind.

It was here, in this dreamlike atmosphere, that I began to wonder if the scene would be better captured in black and white—a thought born from my love for the timelessness of monochrome. But almost immediately, I knew: this moment demanded color. The rust-red of the bridge against the pale sky, the greens and browns of the wildflowers along the path, and the soft hues of the mist were integral to the scene’s spirit.

In this moment, I recalled the words of Saul Leiter, who said, “I found my colors in my backyard.” It struck me that this, too, was a place where color was essential—where it breathed life into steel and stone. Stripped of its color, the bridge would be reduced to mere structure, losing the essence that made it part of this place, this time.

And so, I walked on, embracing the colors that filled the world around me, understanding that sometimes, the most profound beauty lies in seeing things just as they are, in the hues that nature and time have chosen to paint them.