Drove to Riverhead this evening: took a walk alongside the Peconic River. Calm water, a few boats, carved wood; people feeding ducks, a family of swans, three grey cygnets, mother swan with a label round her neck, numbered.
As I watched the brown water was silver, and the silver was fish.
A million small, silver fish, synchronised swimming, a swarm of fish, a flock of fish, all flowing, all moving in one body; a huge ribbon of single-direction fish; a dream of fish, almost there, almost not there at all. I thought it was imagination, but they came back, again and again, just below a veil of water.
I asked a fisherman what they were--he said snapper, baby blue fish, as he removed a three-pronged hook from the mouth of one of the million, and gently placed it back in the water.
The fish were jumping out of the water. The water was so full of fish it was overflowing.
Next week, the fisherman said, they'll be twice as big.
As I watched the brown water was silver, and the silver was fish.
A million small, silver fish, synchronised swimming, a swarm of fish, a flock of fish, all flowing, all moving in one body; a huge ribbon of single-direction fish; a dream of fish, almost there, almost not there at all. I thought it was imagination, but they came back, again and again, just below a veil of water.
I asked a fisherman what they were--he said snapper, baby blue fish, as he removed a three-pronged hook from the mouth of one of the million, and gently placed it back in the water.
The fish were jumping out of the water. The water was so full of fish it was overflowing.
Next week, the fisherman said, they'll be twice as big.
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