The Weight of Air

There is a specific gravity to childhood. It is not found in the things we hold, but in the space between the ground and the sky. We spend our lives trying to return to that suspension, to the moment when the body forgets its own weight and trusts the arc. Gravity is a law, but for a second, it is a suggestion. We are tethered to the earth by names, by histories, by the expectations of those who watch from the porch. Yet, in the swing, the tether stretches. It does not break. It only reminds us that we are capable of leaving, if only for the duration of a breath. We return to the dust eventually. We always do. But the memory of the air remains, a cold draft in a warm room, a reminder that we were once lighter than the world required us to be. Does the earth miss us when we are mid-air?

Ryszard Wierzbicki has captured this suspension in his image titled On the Swing. It is a quiet study of gravity and grace. Can you feel the stillness that follows the motion?