A Slight Click in the Cold
The chill was the first thing registered against my fingertips. I stood upright on a crisp layer of white ground, bare branches rising silently behind me. My right hand held a small camera. I tested my grip, shifting a joint with measured intent. My index finger moved, feeling the textured dial beneath it. The camera tilted upward slightly as my wrist turned. I am present, and I can choose my vantage point.