You live Changelessly until...
Amy reread her article on the Annual Meeting of the Duck Breeders, added a missing comma, and breathed a sigh of relief as she pressed send. She had been warned by her editor that most of journalism wasn’t sensational Pulitzer-winning stuff, but she had hoped for something more interesting than this endless string of car accidents and meetings of this club and that society.
She told herself that someone had to do it, and she knew how much it meant to many people to see their names in print, as she checked her watch. It wasn’t as late as she had assumed, so, with a new spring in her step, she grabbed her trusted Leica and made for the nearby woods.
Some day soon, she knew, she would graduate to writing reviews on performances and on local politics. And from there, it was just a step to wildlife reporting from exotic places like Manaus, or Mozambique. She froze, as she spotted a squirrel just a few feet ahead, licking its tiny claws with abandon. She raised her Leica slowly, adjusted the focus with one practiced motion, and snapped a picture. The squirrel turned its head and stared at Amy with a strange mixture of fear and curiosity before it ran up a nearby oak tree.
Amy checked the picture, and settled onto a tree trunk in a waiting stance, immobile, to become part of the forest around her.
Photography was like fishing in that it required patience. She allowed her mind to wander, and thought about the weird reports she had heard.