Looks like the water tower is keeping an eye on the clouds.

The water tower rose before me like a sentinel from another era. Its weathered bricks told stories of time passed, while its metallic top gleamed under the afternoon sun as if refusing to age. There was something paradoxical about it—both steadfast and fragile in its solitude among the encroaching modernity. I walked around its base, tracing its curves with my eyes. The sky above was a painter’s dream, dappled with soft clouds that seemed to drift lazily without purpose. It felt like standing at the meeting point of two worlds: one rooted in history and another racing toward an uncertain future. The juxtaposition was oddly comforting—a reminder that even as we move forward, traces of where we’ve been remain.