Saturday, May 22, 2010
The Fish Get a Visitor
The fish were having a banner day, a red letter day--cliches, of course, but that's just how they looked (banners and red letters) as they darted across the pond. The sun was strong, the water was warm, and now there were two of us to pinch and toss those stinky fish flakes through the air.
The pollen spiked. Our eyelids weighted. We went inside. I woke up a half-hour later to see-- apparition! Ghost swallowing greedily, on the edge of the pond.
I ran outside. The heron roosted on the roof of my study, defiant, before it took off: white white white white white through the leaves.
We looked down. No fish. Just the bullfrog, crouching between the iris spears, with sly mouth.
Had he frozen there, above-it-all, as the heron cleaned out the pond?
But early Friday we saw them again: one orange dart and then another, but deep beneath the surface now, chastened, frenzied.
As for who became food? Only the creatures know.