Zbiornik Retencyjny Gańczorka – Reflections Beneath a Summer Sky
The road wound steadily upward through stretches of pine and birch, the air shifting from the heat of the valleys to the cooler whispers of the hills. Even before we caught sight of the water, there was a sense that the day would leave its mark.
When we arrived, the reservoir lay before us like a sheet of liquid glass, its stillness disturbed only by the faintest ripple. Here, engineering and nature share an uneasy alliance — the concrete walls and channels holding back a body of water that seems too wild to be contained. The sun poured gold over the surface, and every shift of the breeze sent waves of light dancing into the trees that guard its edges.
Dorota and I wandered the winding paths, sometimes close to the water’s edge, other times climbing to look down upon it from above. The forest was alive with soft rustlings — the sound of leaves stirred by the wind, of small creatures hidden from sight, of water lapping gently against stone. Each turn in the path offered a different view, as though the reservoir wished to be understood from more than one angle.
Monty, our small Shih Tzu, alternated between walking proudly ahead and riding in his “Monty Truck” with an air of contented royalty. He is not a dog who usually braves the water, preferring to admire it from a safe distance. But this day was different. Perhaps it was the warmth, perhaps the strange pull of the still surface — whatever the cause, he stepped forward, paws touching the cool shallows. We watched as ripples spread outward, silver against the blue, until they vanished into the reservoir’s vast calm. It was a moment small in size but large in meaning — a reminder that even familiar souls can surprise us.
Gańczorka is not simply a destination; it is a conversation between the past and the present, between what is seen and what is hidden. You leave with photographs, yes, but also with questions — and with the sense that some answers are not meant to be spoken, only felt.
Some journeys are measured in miles. This one was measured in moments: the light on water, the scent of pine in the air, the quiet bravery of a little dog, and the lingering thought that beneath the stillness, something ancient stirs.
