There is a mathematics to a crowd that has nothing to do with numbers.
At a certain density, individuals stop being individuals. They become pattern. Rhythm. A single breathing thing made of a thousand separate ones. You stop counting and start feeling the weight of collective presence, the squawk of a species going about its ancient business without any care that you are watching, or that watching has made you smaller in a way you didn't expect.
I have stood in cities. I have stood in subways. I have stood in places where humans press together and call it community.
Nothing prepared me for this.
King penguins were here before I arrived and they will be here long after the boat leaves. The pano admits a quiet acknowledgment that some things are simply too large for a single frame, too alive to be contained, too old to be explained by anyone who has only been on this planet for a few decades.
This is a photograph of scale. Of time. Of everything that exists without needing a reason to.
King Penguins photographed on South Georgia Island, 2020
