Anne Grant
In a flash, the photographer has captured a moment
The photographic image, frozen now, and thus suspended out of time, Invites me to roam
There’s much I do not know
Does the overarching lynx, suspended in mid-air
Reaching for the golden partridge terrifyingly suspended
between life and death
make his kill?
Safely removed, not chilled in the slightest by the powdery snow
I imagine from the comfort of my wingback
That even at the crossroads of life and death
There’s unbridled joy in the stretching, the reaching…
To be so fully engaged with life
Everything extraneous stripped away
I feel it
The photographer’s domain is that soft quiet intimate place
Between the out breath and the in breath
It’s the sweet resting spot, and also the place where everything happens