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