There’s a special moment in photography when artifice disappears. It dissolves like a wisp of smoke, leaving two people—often strangers—face to face. It’s an intense moment, almost uncomfortable. Subject and photographer lock; throat and chest leap; fingers tremble. Fly angers know the feeling of anticipation well. A hatch is on and something unexpected is about to rise, dappling the surface of water. No matter how fleeting they might be, I’m addicted to moments of reality and beauty.
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That was simply beautiful. The photograph and the prose.