On Bubbles
Posted on May 12, 2008
Filed Under Aphorisms |
Fragile, gelatinous, bubbles ripple into existence from the thinnest of liquids, composed of nothing more substantial than some surface tension and the syrup of their own viscosity. Perhaps the precariousness, and ultimate futility, of their lives makes them corpulent, lazy. At first, they seem to want to climb but are quickly resigned to their fate, drifting gently earthward at a grave yet stately pace. Still, they are never less than elegant, shimmering and flashing all the colors of the spectrum during their descent. Exhausted by the effort of holding themselves together, they pop with an almost audible sigh of relief. We are in awe of these lovely blobs of ectoplasm because they do, however briefly, defy gravity. This is also why we’d like to live inside them, preferring to ignore the enormous destructive force unleashed when they burst.
A version of this abbreviated essay originally appeared in the May issue of Ode, on sale now.
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