Jaye Marie and Anita Dawes

The surface of the pond was empty… not a fish in sight… yet by the time I had taken the last few steps across the deck, forty of them were waiting to be fed, with several of them, taking a leaf from Simon’s book and sticking their faces out of the water, looking hopefully… and confidently… in my direction. They know the footsteps that herald food.

Not for the first time I wonder about that. Small though I am in the eyes of the world, I am such a vast being in comparison to them. They cannot see me when they dart about their business in the water, only when they raise their eyes towards the heavens from whence all care comes; either in the form of fresh water and oxygen or as manna falling from the skies. Sometimes our eyes meet and there is a sense of wordless understanding…