A Blur on the Lens

A fat dewdrop tumbled straight off a low alder leaf and smacked dead-center onto my left spectacle lens—*gasp!* The entire shoreline fractured into five wobbling, watery trees! I froze on the spot, tucking my fishing rod tight under one elbow so I wouldn't drop it into the mud. Don't blink! Don't twitch! Slowly, with trembling fingers, I lifted the corner of my checkered flannel shirt, pinched the dry cotton against the glass, and gave it three firm, squeaky rubs. *Hah—phew!* The blur vanished in a blink. The morning creek snapped right back into crisp, steady focus.