the Phlog

Behind the priest, water is seeping through cracks in the rocks and out of the mountain, quietly channelled past the archaeological site, the ravaged remnants of living room upholstery thrown over the rocks, a few generations of dead goats in various stages of decomposition (mostly just hair and hooves), into the fields, through the public baths and then somewhere into the urban distance.

I switch to manual and take a reading off my palm. The light is too complicated here, streaming through the cloudless sky, bouncing off the rock, creeping into the mosque. I place the priest at the edge of my viewfinder, and know that 9 measly autofocus points just aren’t enough. This is when you get to the point where you’re playing with those few millimetres of focus, and you don’t have a focusing point on the priest as you drag him to the edge of your frame, and you have to lock focus and drag your point away keeping your finger half-pressed, and know as you move the camera to the right that you’re losing those millimetres of leeway.

I might have cursed if there wasn’t a priest sitting 5 feet away. Instead, I try not to think of the $7,000 I need to buy 19 selectable points. The dull clunk of the shutter echoes off the priest and his Quran and carpet, and against the walls of mountain that turn mellow with the shade of the rock and the sounds of flowing water.