Shooting Into The Sun

Never shoot into the sun—the voice played in her head. The rules she had learned early in her career never failed to produce flawless photographs. The rules she had developed for life had not served her as well. In the sixteen years since her father’s departure, Rylee had kept herself busy, focused on her career, and safe inside her well-constructed boundaries.

Rylee resituated the tripod and checked the sun’s position. She stepped behind the camera, looked once again through the lens and waited, watching the slight movement of the leaves. Water bubbled over rocks. Slowing the shutter speed, she could create a smooth cascade effect. Blue sky and white clouds reflected on the stream’s surface. This stretch of the rapids where the Youghiogheny River ran through Ohiopyle State Park in Pennsylvania was her favorite spot for shooting.

Her thumb rested on the shutter release, prepared for just the right moment. The breeze subsided and the shadows shifted. Then, just as she pressed the button, some jerk decided to walk on water.

Rylee lifted her head and stared. A hiker made his way across the exposed rocks and into the middle of the narrow river—directly into the center of her view. She walked to the water’s edge and, with hands on hips, shouted, “Excuse me! You’re ruining my shot.”

He raised his arms and stretched, his face turned toward the sun. His shirt pulled up to expose a narrow waist and flat stomach.

Rylee dragged her eyes away from his body, cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted again, “Hey! You’re in the way.”

The hiker turned and shielded his eyes with his hand. “What?”

“You…are…ruining…my…shot.”