The Weight of Hands

There is a particular kind of silence found in the middle of a crowd. It is not the absence of noise, but the presence of a boundary. We move through the world as if we are alone, yet we are constantly held by the invisible threads of those who watch over us. A hand on a shoulder, a steady gaze, the simple act of being present when the world is too loud. We forget that we were once carried. We forget the feeling of being small enough to be shielded from the wind. The memory remains in the muscles, a dull ache for a safety that no longer exists. We spend our lives looking for that same stillness in the middle of the storm, hoping to find someone who will stand between us and the chaos. Does the protector ever tire of the weight they carry?

Nilla Palmer has captured this quiet gravity in her work titled Moroccan Nanny. It is a reminder that even in the busiest places, there is always a center. Does this stillness feel like home to you?