From my short story "Whisper"

An excerpt below from a short story. The Falls, the Niagara river, and the two great lakes, Erie and Ontario, have influenced my writing and photography tremendously (how could they not?).

           

Last Saturday, ice had formed on every surface along the perimeter of the American Falls where Nyla decided she wanted to shoot some photos. Lee and Nyla slid cautiously along the path at the edge of the upper rapids, squinting against the glint of sunlight reflecting off frozen tree limbs, rails, benches, and blacktop. Green and white water tumbled over the brink throwing up a mist that instantly transformed into a coating of glass. I was happy listening to Nyla's chattering about her broken pinky fingernail, her vacation to Belize, her two Siamese cats. I remained silent, enjoying the splash of vibrancy that Nyla added to the grey slate of our lives. She provided most of our stimulation now that medication had practically extinguished Lee's dexterity and he could no longer play his cello. Nyla's monologue lulled us into what felt like a dream.
            Slipping her SLR camera from it's padded case, Nyla focused the first shots on Lee, clicking and advancing the film as quick as an automatic camera might have. We watched her, mesmerized. Her wavy black braids shimmered with mist, and she shuddered as the howling of the rapids pounded our ears. Pivoting away, Nyla stepped closer to the rim of the Falls, her camera still poised in front of one eye. She twisted open the aperture, wider and wider, letting more light fall across the film, capturing crystal reflections that emanated from the encrusted surroundings. The sun split our view with it's blinding beams, as we gazed out at the water Nyla was immortalizing.