The Weight of the Wing

There is a peculiar physics to the act of hovering. We often mistake stillness for an absence of effort, assuming that to remain suspended is to be at rest. Yet, if you watch a bird holding its place against a restless wind, you see the truth: it is a frantic, invisible labor. Every muscle is a conversation with the air, a constant negotiation between the desire to stay and the urge to be carried away. We live our lives in much the same way, suspended in the middle of our own histories, trying to keep our balance while the currents of time pull at our edges. We think we are standing still, but we are merely paddling against the inevitable. It is a graceful deception, this appearance of calm. We hold our breath, we fix our gaze on a point just beyond the reach of our own hands, and we hope that the air will continue to hold us up. What happens when the wind finally stops, and the weight of the world becomes something we can no longer negotiate?

Kristel Sturrus has captured this delicate suspension in her image titled The Pelican. It is a quiet reminder of the immense energy required to simply exist in the open air. Does it make you wonder what we are all holding ourselves up for?