As an apprentice, I learned to gather up the photons and herd them into some semblance of order. My teacher helped me until she thought I was proficient enough to step out on my own. I took my camera and approached each subject with a formidable dread. Would I do justice to the patterning all around me? I held my breath as I tripped the shutter. That was the key. Without the paused inspiration, all was a blur. Each picture became a record of the time I held my breath. Later I’d look at them, one by one, and sigh.
Mario who?I'm a novelist, poet, and short story writer living in the Pacific Northwest on Missoula Flood soil. I post my 100-word short shorts here on an intermittent basis.
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