Temperature: 64 degrees
Partly cloudy skies.
I stand on a wooden pedestrian bridge. A river courses beneath my feet, and in the water swim too many fish to count. They glide and congregate close to where I stand. I go to the other side of the bridge, curious. Are there as many fish waiting on this side of the river? I see none. I return to my original spot and the same fish greet me. Why here, I wonder? Is the water deeper? The food selection better?
Behind me, two bikers zip across the bridge, rattling its wooden beams. The fish scatter out of my sight. I'm slightly annoyed at this intrusion, this sudden end to the fish party. But the day is too beautiful to stay irritated for long. I stand still and wait, listening to the river make that comforting gurgling sound as water passes over rocks. After a minute, three fish return.
They circle in the water, cautiously nearing the surface. And then, so quickly I almost miss it, a fish mouth breaks through the water. Fish lips open and greedily gobble a floating insect. Without wasting a second the fish darts back into the depths.
I study the fish. I wish I knew enough to identify this one. It's hard for me to get a complete view of them from this perspective, but they look similar in length and color, 4-6 inches and light brown. I'm more used to looking at fish, "eye to eye," in an aquarium or in a nature show. Looking from above is an entirely different feeling. It's like I'm a predator, quietly observing the fish's movement. It's a strange sensation.
And then I remember, I am a predator. Though I mean these fish no harm, I've preyed upon fish in the past. I've caught fish by hook and line. Reeled them out of precious water only to release them a couple seconds later. I've never killed a fish, though I've eaten plenty. And I've liked the taste. I'm a predator alright.
I ponder this role I've been assigned and consider the responsibility, the power. It's not right for me to ignore or forget it. As I peer into the water, watching the fish swim, I wonder what I look like from above.
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| My perspective |
Hi Bethany-
ReplyDeleteI loved these perspectives and your honest appraisal of our predatory instincts. I felt a palpable shift in this piece as you observed the fish opening its mouth at the surface. During this week of studying urban nature writing, I appreciated your inclusion of the cyclists cruising past as part of the milieu of the pond and park too.
This is a great evocation of stillness and meditation. You home in on the fish and allow your thoughts to take their course. And the turn to self-reflection makes an interesting parallel to your gazing down at the mirrored surface of the water.
ReplyDeleteThis entry is striking for how you've slowed down and allowed yourself to look deeply and closely at one particular aspect of this place. That perspective - and your compelling meditation on it (I wrote an essay about mice and related a story where I had become a predator, so I can relate) - offers us a full glimpse into the nuances of the park.
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