I drop down into the canyon at dusk. I want to capture the last rays of light hitting the water before dark. I run the steep, loose trail that leads me to an abrupt 20 foot drop off midway down the gully. I lower myself into a slot stemming precariously on wet granite. The light is just how I’d hoped - a golden flicker scattered across the surface of the torrent. I hop from boulder to boulder across the water, rushing to get in position for a photograph before the moment is lost. In my haste, I misstep, slip and crunch my midfoot in a way it typically would not bend. I sit, holding my ankle, sputtering expletives, breathing heavily to diffuse the pain. It takes me a few minutes to collect myself. Looking back upstream I decide I don’t like this angle anyway. I hobble over to a better spot, but the light is gone. I’m frustrated at myself for missing the shot, and for hurting myself so stupidly. A few days later, my foot still hurts. It’s improved, but won’t allow me to run just yet. Since I’m restricted in my movement, I’ve decided to try an exercise of standing in place and shooting 12 frames from the same spot. Rushing is what got me injured in the first place, so the process serves as a reminder to slow down, contemplate and practice looking, whether the light or scene is good or not.