Swimming Alone

It is foolish to be sad to lift three frozen goldfish from a pond. Everyone can agree on that.

Right?

When I was tall and they were not, we all went to the pond shop to carefully choose each of their fishes.

One year she wanted white; another year she wanted orange, while the boys had to have the opposite, whatever that was.

Then only two came to visit but we still bought three.

Later it was only one; she was young enough to pick out hers and, of course, the others.

She was the only one who went to Mr. Freeze with me that year and we laughed because everyone loves Mr. Freeze and it was just us two; she had no urge to play on the swings.

So it was silly of me this year to be sad when I pulled three frozen tiny bodies from the pond. They had lost their color, their little bodies bloated and grossly distended.

On a grey NWO early spring afternoon, I removed them, along with dead autumn leaves.

This year, I will choose little fishies myself, depositing them in friendly water in (what to me is) paradise.

I will choose. Alone once again.

But this year there will be four.

Four goldfish for my little paradise. *******************   Swimming Alone rice paper, gouache, encaustic on board