Between ground and air

White feathers against white snow. Wings spread to full extension. Eyes burning gold against endless pale. This is the moment motion announces itself—not the flight, not the landing, but the instant between, when a snowy owl throws its wings up and the world holds its breath. Is it launching? Displaying? Balancing? The wings suggest all three simultaneously. What's certain: this is power made visible, six-foot wingspan deployed, talons gripping snow, every muscle tensed between stillness and movement. The background provides nothing—no context, no color, no distraction. Just owl and snow and that frozen moment when potential becomes kinetic.