Ballet Under the Stars

Howard wiped sweat from the viewfinder on his camera. The moon burned bright, transforming the amphitheater from simple stone ruins to a place of ancient culture. Let Brenda from marketing try to top this with another dry story about New Hampshire leaves. And all he needed was one picture.

The crowd rustled fans and guzzled tart wine. A smattering of applause sounded for every wisp of breeze. Surely the ballet would start soon. Surely.

The lights dimmed. The crowd roared in relief. Howard flinched at the noise, his camera tumbling. Broken. Ballerinas spun tight pirouettes, but he could only watch.