The Ballad of the Lens Shot

There I was—camera in hand, heart pounding like an alien's first step on Earth. We stood at the edge of the world, or at least O'ahu, with Diamond Head towering like some ancient volcano in the background. Oh, wait, it's an ancient volcano in the background. Anyway, the trade winds were playful. Too playful for what I was about to do, shaking my camera to and fro.

My subject—willing or just gullible—stood utterly still, a glass lens ball balanced perfectly atop their head. A glistening orb, crystal clear, reflecting sky and skyline like a bubble floating in the air. I had to be quick, surely that sun piercing through the ball was about to start a hair fire. No, really, a lens ball in the sun resting on anything flammable will start a fire.

"Are you sure about this?" they asked, barely moving their lips.

"Not remotely," I whispered. "But with luck, I'm going to nail it."

I stepped back. Adjusted. This was no ordinary shot. This was William Tell with aperture priority. One twitch, one mistimed breath, one Mana bird swoop from above, and the whole illusion would crack—literally, it would crack if it fell on the stones.

No autofocus. I needed complete control. ISO: 100. Aperture: f/2.8. Manual focus ring—fine-tuned with surgical precision.

I steadied my breath. Waited for the wind to hush.

And then—click.

The shutter thwapped like thunder. Just once. That's all I needed.

I looked down at the playback. The orb had caught it all—Diamond Head, the sea, even the clouds mid-waltz across the sky—flipped and frozen in perfect symmetry.

My friends' relief was only mildly noted as she peeked at the screen. "Did it work?"

I turned it toward her with the flair of a stage magician revealing a white dove out of a hat.

She whispered, "Wow, if this were any sharper, it'd come with a warning label."

I just smiled. "I never miss, especially when the target stands still."