SAY UNCLE.

I didn’t photograph the lunar eclipse. I couldn’t engage with it. I didn’t want to feel it. Most of my day is carefully calculated to not feel it.

My carefully calculated moves don’t hold up against the carefully calculated patterns of the universe. It hits me in the face. I’ll be minding my own business, doing my job, getting the photos required of me, and just as I’m about to let the mask slip and make my way into the dark to be alone, there she is. The moon. Glowing, clouds whispering along her skin. Something collapses in my chest. “You win.” You’ve already won. I’ve had enough. Aren’t you happy yet? Can we give it a rest? I get it, universe. You win, with the click of my shutter, the bending of the aperture, the sensitivity of the ISO, the poetry of a photograph, you win. Now, let me go. I’d say uncle if you’d let me.