The Hum of the Spin

The smell of burnt sugar and damp wool clings to the back of my throat, a sharp, sweet reminder of nights spent shivering in the dark. I remember the sensation of being pulled upward, the iron seat cold against my thighs, vibrating with a low, rhythmic hum that traveled straight into my marrow. It is a dizzying, hollow ache—the feeling of being suspended between the solid earth and the vast, uncaring sky. We are always trying to outrun the stillness, spinning ourselves into a blur just to feel the rush of air against our skin. My palms still sweat when I recall that sudden, stomach-dropping lurch, the world turning into a streak of neon and shadow. We chase these moments of frantic motion, hoping to leave our heavy, tired selves behind on the ground. Does the heart ever truly stop racing once it has learned the rhythm of the wheel, or are we forever caught in the orbit of our own restless departures?

Kurien Koshy Yohannan has captured this feeling in his photograph titled Whizzing Round. The way the lights bleed into one another reminds me of that same breathless, spinning night. Can you feel the vibration of the city beneath your own feet?