The perfect shot

This is it: the moment you've been waiting for. The white guy wearing the bright green basketball shorts takes his shot, and then it's your turn.

Getting into the right position is almost as important as the execution of the shot itself. You plant your sneakers solidly on either side of the line, toes facing forward, weight distributed evenly between your toes and heels. You take a deep breath, exhale slowly to relax your shoulders and focus on your goal, grateful for the cap keeping the mid-morning sun out of your eyes.

Bending your knees you start to crouch. There's a momentary wobble when you're startled by the sound of your right knee cracking, and you worry you might end up finishing this tour with wet feet, but all those squats you've been doing with your personal trainer pay off. You arrest the totter before it becomes a fall, and then you're in a yogic squat, except for the fingers of your left hand balanced against the cool, grey tiles.

For a moment you close your eyes and enjoy the cool breeze that brushes against your cheeks. You listen to the crowd murmuring behind you. They're still supportive, but you know how quickly curiosity can transform into impatience. So you commit to the shot, opening your eyes and raising your arms straight out in front of you, so the camera shutter is on the same level as the eyes of the central lion.

They're cuter than you were expecting, these stone beasts with their rounded ears and sad eyes. Some of them have furry chests perfect for patting, but others seem to be covered in scales. Each lion blows a thin stream of water through a short silver straw, water that encircles all twelve of the pride before dancing down the gutter between your feet.

You could spend all day noticing different details carved onto the lions, but you hear a muttered, "Come on, mate," behind you, and you know you've lost the crowd. A final burst of photos and you stand up with another creak.

Your daughter's waving you over for a selfie with your wife. You take your cap off, mussing the hat shape out of your hair as she hooks an arm around your waist. She takes some quick shots of the three of you grinning with the lion heads floating in the background.

As you walk across the square to continue your self-guided tour of the Alhambra, you start flicking through the photos, anticipating the satisfaction you'll feel at having taken the perfect shot. The composition's what you were hoping for, and the light's good, but in the top-left corner of each photo of the fountain there's an unwelcome, pink smudge covering one of the lions' heads.

Somehow amidst all that balancing, you've managed to capture one of your fingers as well. A sigh escapes, prompting your daughter to peek over your shoulder at the screen. She huffs a laugh and gives your shoulder a squeeze with fingers that are freezing despite the warmth of the day.

"Don't worry, Dad," she says. "I'll make you a painting."

This is a piece of fiction inspired by the painting above, which is loosely based on a photo I took of my Dad last summer when we visited the Patio de los Leones. But the father in this story isn't my Dad, who nailed that shot.

When was the last time it felt really important to you to capture the moment? Did you get your perfect shot?

Sketches from Granada celebrates every-day moments of connection with strangers, friends and ourselves. I know how easy it is not to be present in your own life, and I hope these sketches inspire you to seek out those moments that are worth savouring. 

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