The Hum of Velocity

The air tastes metallic, like a copper penny pressed against the tongue just before a thunderstorm breaks. I remember the sensation of standing on a wide, open field, the ground vibrating through the soles of my feet—a low, rhythmic thrumming that traveled up my shins and settled deep in my chest. It was the sound of something moving faster than the wind, a sharp, tearing noise that felt like silk being ripped in two. My skin prickled with the sudden shift in pressure, a fleeting coldness that vanished as quickly as it arrived, leaving behind the faint, acrid scent of burnt ozone and dry grass. We are often told to look up, to track the arc of things passing by, but the body remembers the displacement of air, the way the atmosphere recoils from a sudden intrusion. Does the sky ever truly forgive the scars we carve into it, or does it simply wait for the silence to return so it can knit itself back together?

Kurien Koshy Yohannan has captured this intensity in his work titled Surya Kirans. The way the colors cut through the blue feels like that same vibration I once felt in my bones. Can you feel the hum of the engines through the screen?