George adjusted the neck and waded in.  The neck kept doubling over on its side and looked like a swan in distress, which was certainly not George’s intention.

Although initially a joke, the idea was, in fact, the perfect solution.  George had thought about it for several days, examining the proposed solution for flaws and drawbacks. Other than getting wet, he couldn’t find one. The whole village knew Gina was the smart one.

He wanted a close-up of the the swan family: the cob, the pen and their five newborn cygnets. The babies were adorable, and he wanted to win the village’s photo competition this year. After six years of participation, he had yet to even place. This was his year. He just knew it.

He stood on tiptoe to keep the water out of his mouth.  He bent the neck one more time, hoping the wire framing would hold, and zipped up, leaving enough room for the camera lens.

What I need is a telephoto lens.  At what it cost to put this costume together, I would have been halfway there. 

Gina objected.

George’s hobby was expensive.  It was more about buying equipment and accessories than taking photos.  He was good at the former but not with the latter.

If he could just get close enough, George could get a great shot.  He wanted it to be a brilliant, clear, perfectly focused, and framed, but also artistic.  Moody.  Wistful.  That’s the word he wanted.  Wistful. A mating pair of the King’s swans with their babies.  It would win – he was sure of it.

He tried to stretch his arms.  The swan body felt like it was getting smaller and heavier. The canvas now wet was difficult to manage.  The camera too seemed heavier.  He would absolutely shit if he dropped his Sony mirrorless.  So would Gina.  She had been furious when he’d brought it home last week. The camera it was replacing was less than a year old.

But, damn, the specs were great.  Surely, this would be the photo! This is my year!

He didn’t understand aperture and f-stops. He bought books, but they were tedious and dull. The type was so small that even with his reading glasses he struggled. The exposure triangle diagrams gave him a headache. He assured himself he learned best by doing, but George never took so much as even a decent shot without using the autofocus feature.  Gina would really ignite if she knew. 

Sweat broke out on his brow. 

He wiped his forehead with his forearm, almost dropping the camera.

Where were they?

“Hey, mate!  What are you doing?”

Oh no.  An audience.  The swans would never come around if there were people on the banks.  Shite.

George tried to get out of sight. 

The voice followed him. 

“Should I call for help?  You alright?  Had a few pints, did you?”

“Shshhhhh,” George hissed trying to get the man to quiet.

There!

There they were.  Nesting in the reeds near the bank.  Perfect!  The background would include nothing manmade. Oh look! A dragonfly! The perfect whimsical and wistful addition to the photographs.

He pointed the camera and started shooting. 

“Listen, mate, if you don’t answer me, I will call 999.  You are sick in the head, I think.”

George turned the dials and twisted the lens, hoping to get an artistic yet wistful photo without autofocus. 

The guy on the bank was shouting now.  George recognized his voice.

“Ewen, go away.  I’m fine.  Just trying to get a photo,” and at the sound of George’s voice, the cob startled, spread his wings wide and screeched. The noise and wing flapping of the irate paternal swan startled George.

He dropped the camera.

Bloody hell.

* * * * *

(Upton Snodsbury, Worcestershire) George William Clarkston of North Piddle was taken into custody at approximately 9:20 a.m. Tuesday.  At press time, authorities were not disclosing if he had been charged and cautioned.

Clarkston was apprehended from Beakston Pond wearing a swan costume formed from tarps and electrician’s tape.  A witness says the ensemble was so constructed to provide an opening that allowed George to take photos while wading up to his shoulders in the water disguised as a swan.  The costume also included a ventilation tube.

The witness, Ewen Nesbitt also of North Piddle, says it wasn’t clear what Mr. Clarkston was photographing.  He said, “You know George, always poking around with a camera, but blimey, I don’t know what he thought he was doing.  It was a real headscratcher.  Of course, I called the authorities in fear for his mental health.  There was quite a chill earlier.”

Our reporter saw no evidence of a camera during the apprehension of Mr. Clarkston. Once freed from the tarps, wire, and duct tape, the gentleman appeared to be overwrought. He gesticulated wildly-periodically pointing at the pond while talking to the constables. George Clarkston was assisted into a vehicle and taken to the police station where his wife, Gina Layton Clarkston, was summoned. Mrs. Clarkston refused comment both on her arrival and her departure.

The nefarious rumors currently circulating appear to be unfounded.  The citizenry is advised to let the constables handle the matter.  Further reports will be made as information becomes available. 

.

.

.