The Breath of Scattering

The taste of dust is never just dirt; it is the dry, chalky memory of a summer afternoon spent running until my lungs burned. It is the feeling of grit against the roof of my mouth, a reminder that everything solid eventually turns to powder. I remember the sensation of holding a stem between my thumb and forefinger, the slight resistance of the stalk before it gives way. There is a specific, frantic tickle when the wind catches those tiny, feathered parachutes, a soft collision against the skin of my cheek that feels like a secret being whispered and then immediately stolen. We spend so much of our lives trying to hold onto things, clutching them until our knuckles turn white, forgetting that the most beautiful things are those designed to be surrendered to the air. If we stopped trying to keep everything still, would we finally feel the weightlessness of simply letting go? Where do the pieces of us land when we finally exhale?

Kirsten Bruening has captured this fragile transition in her beautiful image titled Make a Wish. The way the seeds seem to hover in the air invites a quiet stillness into the room. Does this image make you want to hold your breath or let it all out?