[Pixabay](https://pixabay.com/photos/search/throat/)
The throat is the small channel where breath becomes voice, where silence turns into song. Exposed and vital, the body's most fragile roadway transports everything that sustains us: air, water, words, murmurs, screams.
I consider how we automatically guard this delicate channel by clutching our throats when scared. The way a lump ascends there when bereavement is about to overflow. Our unsaid thoughts, our swallowed pride, our choked-back tears are held in the throat.
Almost architectural, this column supporting the head like a bridge between heart and mind seems to be. When we are anxious, the Adam's apple bobs, a dead giveaway indicator of inner weather.
Singers warm, protect, and draw out notes that might break glass or mend hearts; they know their throats as instruments.
We expose our necks in times of excitement or terror to lovers, to predators, to the sky when we laugh till we're out of breath. It's where vulnerability resides, where trust is judged. Such a small room to hold so much.