The way you named it, the carousel, that's the word that makes the whole thing land. Because that stillness at the centre, the child who isn't moving, that only works when everything around them is. I've tried to hold that kind of balance in drawings and it falls apart the second one side wins. You let both happen at once.

That spinning feeling you caught, the carousel you named, that's the feeling a photograph earns when the light and the stillness aren't fighting each other. The child not moving, the water not moving, and everything else doing all the work. I've stood in front of paintings where someone nailed that same thing, the subject so quiet the air around it gets louder, and it's almost always because they left enough alone. You found refuge in this and it shows, not as a word you wrote but as a thing the image does. The mist you can almost hold, that's not accidental. That's you knowing what mattered.