Belly to the floor, I gaze at the horizon, shimmering in the distance.
The wind cut through the dry savanna grass, like a scythe through harvest
The reflection of my scope glistens in the sun.
And within my sights lies my prey
A beast, a lion, an incredible catch
Hugging the ground I crawl ever so closer, eluding its senses.
And from within my belt I draw a fresh cartridge and silently slide it into place,
Like a claw through flesh
With the eternal patience of a poised lion I gaze down my glassy sight
And wait for a full view.
Then, unaware of the hunter that stalks him,
He strides out from beneath his shadowing tree, but pauses, as if to stop and think.
Swiftly I adjust my aim, until the shot is clean
Now, in perfect position and with my prey poised, I squeeze the trigger realising a shot to freeze all time.
It was quick,
It was clean,
It was sharp,
The perfect photo
By Nick Lilleyman