The morning after the big snow, Myra Jean pulled on her galoshes and set out with her Brownie camera before breakfast. Everything looked clean and fresh under a white blanket sparkling in the morning light. Down the street, she saw a lad trying to use a metal trash can lid as a sled. Snow was rare so far south, and she was surprised there weren’t more children playing outside. She trudged on toward the edge of town. With the lightweight camera, she could go anywhere. She remembered her father’s unwieldy old camera on its tripod, and the way he would put his head under a black cloth and hold up a flash powder lamp. His subjects needed to wait, frozen in place, to avoid blurring the image. Cameras had certainly improved since his day. She probably had the best camera in town, other than Mr. Wharton’s. He and his 16-millimeter movie camera seemed to be everywhere anything interesting was happening.
Now, Myra Jean spotted a cardinal on a snow-covered fence post. As she held up her camera, she thought, what a shame the color won’t show in the photograph.