The Big One

I remember being taught Bernoulli's Principle (succinct and onomatopoeically memorable: 'pressure is least where fluid flows fastest'). I understood then and I understand now how this "law" dictates that, when a wing-shaped object moves through air, an upwards force is generated that counteracts the pull of gravity and allows the wing, and anything it is attached to, to fly

This knowledge makes little difference to the little shock I receive every time I see a 747 rise from a runway. One half of my brain understands that everything I see is explicable and predictable; the other half knows that I am witnessing a miracle

We become accustomed to the everyday sight of sparrows and pigeons, flapping and rising, gliding and never falling - though in truth the flight of birds is less comprehensively understood than the flight of a 747. We are only steered back to wonderment when witnessing extreme skills - swallows drinking on the wing or starlings in murmuration

But this is different. Confronted with the span, the bulk, the imposing presence of these birds - and watching them rise and fall as they decree - my mind is split again: this happens every day, this is what they are born to do, and yet it is a miracle, my heart skips a beat, and I count myself lucky to have seen such an impossible thing