Forlorn hope…

“It’s a good day for life,” said my son, as I helped him across the garden to look at the emerging buds on his acer. He was right… the sun, for once, had shone all morning, making working in the garden far more pleasant than doing the necessary in the cold and rain. The bulbs we had planted in the autumn are flourishing, the roses are already in bud and everything is looking green.

Even the ‘dead leaf’ my son, with his damaged eyesight, had seen on the doorstep had escaped being squashed by a size ten foot by hopping away in the nick of time.

Small creatures are waking after their winter sleep… we found a ladybird on the tree, iridescent beetles in the flower beds and clouds of midges are hovering over the pond… but not as assiduously as we have been the past few days. Ever since the heron attack and the Lazarus fish, we have been counting heads to see who was missing. While all the mature fish seemed to be accounted for and Lazarus (my son has a more irreverent name for him) seems none the worse for his experience, some of the babies were still nowhere to be seen.

We found Garfield, a sparkling orange and black baby koi, hidden in the leaf litter. To be fair, we hadn’t been too worried about not seeing Garfield… He is much smaller than the others that came home with him and when he went missing for months, we were sure we had lost him. Then he made a quick dash out into open water and we were both astonished and jubilant to find he was still with us. But Willow and Cinnamon, two of Nick’s favourite babies and amongst the most adventurous, were nowhere to be seen.

Willow is a delicate and opalescent butterfly koi, with pale gold markings. Amongst the bravest of the little fish, she was one of the first to join the big fish out in open water… and the first to venture out of hiding after the heron’s visit too. I caught sight of her when I was putting up the temporary heron barrier and I was so pleased she had not become the bird’s hors d’oeuvre.

Cinnamon, however, was Nick’s favourite. A nondescript brown when we brought him home, his dun scales standing out by their very plainness amongst the gorgeous colours of his tankmates at the store. Underwater, you could barely see him. He spent all winter being curious, friendly and growing into a beautifully marked fish. He seldom took shelter in the weeds and was always near the surface… perfect for a heron to snatch. After a couple of days with no sign of him, we had begun to resign ourselves to the fact that Cinnamon was no more.

He must have been on my mind, though, for last night, amongst other weirdnesses, I dreamed of him swimming out of the weeds and taking us by surprise. I told Nick about it when I arrived there this morning, over coffee. He still cherished hopes… though I had little hope left for the young koi after spending the morning replacing the temporary heron fence with something less obtrusive and once again, seeing no sign of Cinnamon. We stood at the end of the pond, considering the barrier I had made… and I caught sight of something. I didn’t dare say anything in case I was wrong… but a few minutes later, Cinnamon swam out of the weeds! Nick was over the moon and, I admit, so was I. The heron must have left hungry after all. Sometimes hoping against all odds pays off.

 

About Sue Vincent

Sue Vincent is a Yorkshire-born writer and one of the Directors of The Silent Eye, a modern Mystery School. She writes alone and with Stuart France, exploring ancient myths, the mysterious landscape of Albion and the inner journey of the soul. Find out more at France and Vincent. She is owned by a small dog who also blogs. Follow her at scvincent.com and on Twitter @SCVincent. Find her books on Goodreads and follow her on Amazon worldwide to find out about new releases and offers. Email: findme@scvincent.com.
This entry was posted in Life and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

50 Responses to Forlorn hope…

  1. Pingback: Forlorn hope… — Sue Vincent’s Daily Echo – All About Writing and more

  2. That all worked out well, Sue. Fortunate for you and the fish.

    Liked by 2 people

  3. Sadje says:

    That’s really great.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Lovely, absolutely lovely description. What a nice account about your pond. I can see how much caring you must give to these small creatures. I’m heartily glad for your son he was able to watch little fishes enjoy their Life.

    Liked by 2 people

  5. Ritu says:

    So glad they were all safe!

    Liked by 2 people

  6. quiall says:

    Miracles are all the more precious when unexpected!

    Liked by 2 people

  7. jenanita01 says:

    Just hope the heron got the message and stays away now…

    Liked by 1 person

  8. joylennick says:

    I’m delighted that Cinnamon made it against the odds! “Cinnamon, Cinnamon, Cinnamon..” I was growing quite sad for the little fish. xx

    Liked by 1 person

  9. Jennie says:

    Awww… 😍

    Liked by 1 person

  10. Darlene says:

    What a wonderful story and all the better because it is true. I was cheering for the fish. Hopefully, the heron found some juicy worms.

    Liked by 1 person

  11. Loved this Sue. I remember a toad on the marina trying to get into the ladies shower block!

    Like

  12. Eliza Waters says:

    Good news, Sue! The heron’s visit served as a warning and now the fish are protected! Win-win, except for the heron. 😉

    Like

  13. Widdershins says:

    The best kinds of rebellions are built on hope. 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

  14. Aah. A wonderful spring surprise.

    Like

  15. Adele Marie says:

    So happy to hear all the babies are okay. xxx

    Liked by 1 person

  16. willowdot21 says:

    Hooray for cinnamon and willow, not that I am biased! 💜💜

    Liked by 1 person

  17. While I feel for the bird who apparently didn’t get any breakfast, I’m also glad you didn’t lose any of the fish you and Nick love so much.

    Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.