The Meuse flows, and flows, and flows. It never stops. And there’s always someone watching.
Somewhere, a group keeps vigil behind a row of glowing screens. A kaleidoscope of water on screens: turning corners, spreading in sheets, slipping past itself. At night, the images flicker—morphing tones of red and blue, the river’s warmth and cold mapped in infrared.
From behind a laptop screen, I join them. I watch the Servaas Bridge in Maastricht through a webcam lens. The river moves right to left. It’s a soft blue summer day. A current of cyclists pours across the bridge.
One topples. A quick fall. “Are you okay?” slips out—useless words aimed at a screen. No one hears. I’m not there. I can’t reach through the glass. And so this quiet act of digital river-watching reveals something: the difference between keeping watch and bearing witness. Between guarding and simply… looking on. Under the name Maaswacht, someone is there—truly there, physically—every day. Not with screens, but with feet in grass, wind in hair, water close enough to taste. All through August, someone keeps the river company. By day, watching. By night, sleeping in a nearby hut.