Perch-Promenade A breeze ruffled the reeds on the far side
of the lake, and the water in front of me rippled and became still again. In the depths the weeds swayed gently, and their shadows mottled the bottom so that at first I did not see the perch coming. The sun burst out of the cloud, and even the underwater world was bright, and I held my breath as I admired the hump-backed, spiky-finned, little fat fish that sailed into view, turning like soldiers changing direction and seeming not to be searching for food but to be taking a Sunday promenade. They passed through a sort of plantation of stalks, and crossed a gravel- bed, and I could see the darker bars on the soft green of their flanks. A fly dropped on the water and rose again, but they went on. Not one sailed up so much as an inch to investigate. Here were dignity and peace, and a wonderful yellow evening sunlight streamed down among them. All at once they were gone. Their ranks were broken. There was mud among the weeds, colour rising in the gravel. Too fast, too camouflaged for me to get more than a glimpse of him, a pike had burst through them.
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