The Photographer


Barn, Lightning, Bolt, Storm, Thunderstorm, Clouds

Aaron stood in what had once been a corn field, but now only the broken stalks remained. The sky was a painting of color; greys, blacks, purples, yellows, oranges and pinks. He wondered if God had made the sky his canvas. It was raining in the distance, he could see it coming down on other the fields and it seemed to be making its way over to him.

Leaning against the tumbling outbuilding, he saw a fork of lightening. His breathing quickened and he began snapping photos as if his life depended on it. Which, in a way it kind of did. He turned, moved back and lined up the next angle.

He saw the lightening striking again on the screen and caught the image he had most wanted.

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