While trying to catch your elusive image, I caught a piece of time. That moment, frozen forever, when you stopped long enough for me to crouch by the yellow flowers. That one tiny moment, otherwise gone, but for this fleeting proof of your existence and of mine.
I watched a hawk catch a small fish from the lake. His perfect form, the envy of witnessing geese, and clumsy dogs and noisy seagulls. Were the other fish mystified by the sudden disappearance of their friend? Did they swim quickly away in fright and apprehension, having their lives pass before their cloudy, bulging eyes?