What I love about birds is their undeniable grace. There's something beautiful about flight. I admire how they surrender their bodies to the wind and float weightlessly. It must be liberating to throw themselves into zero substratum and find that an invisible cloud of nothing catches them mid-suspension, only to carry them closer to their destination. I wonder what it feels like to be propelled by something you cannot see, or to flap in unmoving air and not plummet. I wonder what it feels like to be affected by gravity only when chosen to be.
I want to spread my arms along a sea shore and be lifted by the breeze, being thrown in every direction but my own. But I wonder if I'd handle that kind of total surrender with ease. After all these years of treading my own path and falling (mostly) consciously, I wonder if I could truly let my body go. I wonder if a hatchling that jumps to its first ever flight feels the same way a bungee jumper does before taking off. I imagine a young being, barely feathered, throwing itself into adulthood, and I'm baffled by the strength of instinct that makes them embody courage. And, after those first few awkward flaps, when the young bird takes to the sky for the first time, grace seeps into its feathers and stays there. When something as fluid and seamless as air supports them, how can their bodies be any different?
~ These are some scribbles from my bird-book, last maintained three years ago. I miss the pure, unfettered joy of birding ardently, and rediscovering these notes made me crave it again all the more. I leave these here as a thank you to Tarun, who's steadily bringing the birdsong back into my life.
I want to spread my arms along a sea shore and be lifted by the breeze, being thrown in every direction but my own. But I wonder if I'd handle that kind of total surrender with ease. After all these years of treading my own path and falling (mostly) consciously, I wonder if I could truly let my body go. I wonder if a hatchling that jumps to its first ever flight feels the same way a bungee jumper does before taking off. I imagine a young being, barely feathered, throwing itself into adulthood, and I'm baffled by the strength of instinct that makes them embody courage. And, after those first few awkward flaps, when the young bird takes to the sky for the first time, grace seeps into its feathers and stays there. When something as fluid and seamless as air supports them, how can their bodies be any different?
~ These are some scribbles from my bird-book, last maintained three years ago. I miss the pure, unfettered joy of birding ardently, and rediscovering these notes made me crave it again all the more. I leave these here as a thank you to Tarun, who's steadily bringing the birdsong back into my life.
1 comment:
Wow, Ishiks this is so nice post. Write more interesting things
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