A Pinch

This photograph is executing what I, and to my knowledge no one else, call a pinch. The snowed-over bank and path pointing to the river on the left push your eye toward the center. The big leaning tree on the right pushes from the opposite direction. The two sides squeeze your eye to the middle of the frame, where the river and sky go the same gray, and let it wander off down the horizon line.

Sometimes I’m out shooting, like I was on this cold December morning in 2017, and a pinch presents itself so perfectly I chuckle and say it out loud. “Ha. A pinch.” Then I look around, hoping nobody heard.

Who knows what a stranger thinks when a man alone at the river says that.

Nobody heard. It was snowing hard and I had the place to myself. At the river in a snowstorm you can say anything you want.