Something in the eagle’s flight put me in desperate need of a photograph. I scrambled to get my camera out. I fumbled round. I turned dials. I changed settings. I dropped my lens cap. I got a moderately bad picture.
And the thing was, the thing that made its flight so enticing was nothing a photo would ever catch. It was its size, and the slow, efficient movement of its wings. Its glide.
I haven’t learnt my lesson though.