I walk into my son’s garden every morning to be greeted enthusiastically… by a fish. Simon… look, I didn’t name him…is the biggest of the ghost koi in my son’s pond. There are bigger fish, but the huge sturgeons lurk mysteriously in the depths and seldom come to the surface. Simon, however, just lurks, with no sense of mystery, lying in wait for the deity with the fish food.

It would be tempting to think that’s how he sees me… raining down manna from the heavens above the water, but I have a feeling he just looks on me as a soft touch. And he’s probably right. I can’t resist.

He… or perhaps she, who knows?… will wait for my footfall and swim to the edge, looking up hopefully. If food is not immediately forthcoming, he angles himself so he is facing me and sticks his nose out of the water while I talk to him. Yes, I know… but I always say good morning to him and I’ve never pretended to be anything but slightly weird.

The final assault on my heartstrings is saved till last. If all else has failed and he has still not been fed…say, five seconds or so, he blows bubbles for me.

Now I defy anyone to look this fish in the eye and resist those bubbles.

This is a creature who was little more than a tiddler when he arrived… no bigger than a chunky goldfish. Three years on and he is huge. All this growth must come from somewhere and no doubt the bubble blowing has something to do with it… especially as he does it every time I walk across the deck, and I can seldom resist.

He is not alone in there, of course. He shares the pond with a goodly number of others… a small shoal of golden orfe who tend to swim in unison, a variety of koi, goldfish and shubunkins, as well as mirror and grass carp, tench, the monstrous sturgeons and goodness knows what else. There are the inevitable frogs, dragonflies and mussels, as well as Dave (the pigeon) and a whole host of birds, large and small who congregate in the waterfalls at bath time. But Simon is special. He has character…and knows it.

You have to admire him though; he manages to be fed umpteen times a day when I’m there and when he has skimmed the flakes from the surface of the pond, he’ll disappear and help himself to the sturgeon pellets.

He reminds me of the wise old fish in so many tales. He has lived and grown long enough (and wide enough!) to know the ways of the world and how to call down his desires. He has observed the laws of his environment and learned how to work with them and encourage them to work for him too. He will browse for food within his watery world, but every so often some vibration is sensed that alerts him to my presence and he turns his face to the sun. He has built a relationship with the strange being that fills his needs; a relationship built on love and trust, for although I cannot guarantee Simon’s motivations, mine are all affection.

To him I am a creature that shows its face occasionally, looming over his world like a giant. He may not understand the words I speak to him, but he recognises a reciprocal relationship, a bond. Yet his home… the pond, is not my pond, it was built for my son to fill his needs and he, who appears but rarely in comparison is the owner, the real provider of both the food and the environment and whose presence, in turn, determines both mine and that of Simon.

My mind, as I have said, walks some odd paths and I couldn’t help but wonder at this analogy who was blowing bubbles at me. ‘As above, so below’ is a phrase much used in the Mysteries, but I couldn’t recall having heard it applied to a fish. Yet, as my reflection fell on the surface of the water, I thought, well, why not? Does it matter where the spark of understanding or inspiration originates? If I look at the sun it is too strong for my eyes, but if I see it reflected in a pool I may begin to understand what it is, even though what I see is not the reality. I may learn from the pale reflection, but the sun itself remains unchanged. I looked and saw my own image looking back, distorted by the rippling water and the bubbles blown by a hungry fish.