This morning, I walked on a trail that I haven’t visited in perhaps a year. It’s a windy bush track, quite narrow and runs alongside a large creek (or stream, if you’d prefer). It’s been raining heavily these past few days so while I was walking, some of my brainpower was devoted to navigating around puddles, over fallen trees and smelling the freshly upturned earth. Something smelled wonderful, like fruit and flowers.

After a while, I noticed that all the long grasses were lying flat and parallel. Being the hydrologist that I am, I quickly deduced that the grasses had been flattened by water rushing over them. My eyes followed the direction the grass was pointing and sure enough, all grasses led to the lowest drainage line. Even as the path turned and twisted, the grasses and fallen branches all aligned themselves toward the creek. It was fantastic. Nature had drawn its own velocity vectors.

At uni, I often struggled with drawing streamlines over a map (“Must be perpendicular to the equipotential lines, must be parallel, create even squares, consider boundary conditions…”) but here they were all were, displayed for the world to see — and surely 100% correct. If my flownets don’t match up with Nature’s, well, guess who got it wrong?

I finally emerged from the track and reached the bridge over the creek. Normally, as you approach the creek you are welcomed by a quiet roar of water rushing over rocks and into the banks. Sometimes though, like today, you can hear no water. It is dead quiet. This doesn’t mean the creek is dry; even the smallest trickle will make itself heard. It is actually the opposite — the creek is so full that the slow deep water serenely sails over obstructions.

Whenever my mum and I come across the creek in its fullness, she tells me, “A half full barrel makes the most noise.” This is one of my favourite Chinese proverbs. Can you guess what it means?

It means that of the people you meet, the most boastful, most ostentatious often feel the most inadequate inside.