grimmutterings

In a place not far from you and I, near a highway and beyond the hills began the beginning of a beautiful day. The sort of day described in children’s stories.  The sort day that ought to have begun with ‘Once Upon a Time.’  Maybe it had.

On this beautiful day, it seemed only nature was presently enjoying the outdoors.  Birds chattered to each other while on the wing, much too glorious a day to stop for idle gossip. A fat grasshopper basked on a sun warmed tip of a sturdy blade of grass, companionably making room for any ant or other insect that wandered up to take in some of the new day’s warmth.

The grasshopper kept a waving antenna on the noisy birds above in case an evasive hop was needed. Wildflowers brilliantly punctuated the greens and yellows of the grass, delightfully demanding attention from bees and butterflies. The old tree standing alone in all this had seen many days in its long years, and today as a warm breeze rippled its leaves, the tree seemed to lift its heavy limbs towards the sky in delight.  It was a beautiful day.

Beyond the old tree, the water of a large lake twinkled stars in the sun’s rays and beyond the lake someone was out on this morning of mornings.  A man made his way through shabby fields along the old track farmers once used to herd their cattle and sheep to the lake to drink. Farmers had long stopped using those fields and the lake, but the track led the man around the reedy lakeside to a sandy strip of beach where he stood looking back across the water.

The man had brought with him his fishing rod, a bag and a cooler that presumably contained something to drink and maybe something to eat. The man saw a heron poised picture perfect in a patch of tall reeds, and close by, too big for the heron, a large fish lazily swam just under the surface of the water feeling the warmth of the sun on its back after a night spent in the cold depths of the lake.  The fish swam almost without any sense of purpose, coming quite close to the sandy beach until suddenly the shadow of the man standing there startled it. And with a flick of it’s tail, it flashed away to deeper water.  The man watched the fish. A perfect day for fishing.

The man cast his line out into the lake, sat down and settled back against his cooler on the warm sand to wait.  And wait. Hours passed without a bite although for the longest time the man had been watching the large fish once again cruising the surface of the water further out in the lake.  It didn’t seem to be feeding, just wandering.  Apart from the heron that must have given up and flown away, the large fish and the man were the only signs of activity in or around the water.  The man opened his cooler and ate one of the sandwiches that were indeed inside.  He threw the last crust of his sandwich at the fish. The bread fell a long way short, but the fish reacted explosively. 

The tip of an enormous tail splashed out of the water and a large wave rose on either side of what must be a huge head as the fish turned and bore down on the soggy bit of bread.  The bread vanished and the water rippled still again.  Startled, the man sat mouth open, eyes wide.  In his hand, the fishing rod seemed to faint, and dunked its head into the water.  Was that the same fish? It hadn’t seemed that large.

The man took another sandwich from his cooler, took a bite out of it, then broke some bread off and threw it out into the water.  It disappeared instantly. He threw another piece of bread and this time the man thought he saw a gaping mouth under the surface of the twinkling water. No, it couldn’t be that big.  Could it?

Excited, the man changed the line and reel on his rod for the heaviest he had in his bag, the hook too, maybe a double hook or the six plug, yes that one. No other would surely hold up to what monster could be behind the size of the mouth he thought he had just glimpsed.  

If the man had been paying attention to anything other than his fishing rod, he may have noticed the once warm breeze had a chill to it and the sunlight seemed to have faded.  The sun now peeked slyly from behind a single, sudden cloud. The birds no longer flew or chattered, the grasshopper was gone, snatched off its blade of grass and consumed. The flowers seemed to have lost strength and hung their heads.  The old tree had seen days like this before.

The man held his sandwich and his fishing rod and waded out into the water. He didn’t seem to mind or notice his soaking clothing and he continued to throw bits of sandwich out into the lake, each time not quite as far as the last, the pieces disappearing almost immediately. If the man had been paying any attention, he might have noticed the fish was closer to him before he threw the bread.  Although, in fairness and the sudden gloom, the dark waters of the lake weren’t revealing much.  With the last bit of sandwich about to be thrown, the man was suddenly and horribly aware of the eyes under the water in front of him. Eyes that flashed black lightning within blacker orbs.  Should eyes do that the man thought, a question from a panicked mind.

These eyes did and they watched him from the head of a fish the size of which the man’s brain refused to register.  The man had a final moment of insane clarity before disappearing – the fish was fishing. From when the man first saw it by the heron, the fish had been luring him.

After the fish took the man and his fishing rod under the water, the beautiful day shone as brilliantly as before.  The cloud vanished, the birds took to the air again, subdued at first but soon resuming their noisy flights.  The water of the lake sparkled and danced in the sunlight and a cooler and a bag sat together on a sandy strip of beach. The old tree sighed in the breeze, it had lived its life by the lake, it had seen the fish many times and been silent witness to days like this.

Big fish did live in those waters.  Just one now, and it had lived in the lake for centuries, offering small, or large enough, glimpses of its monstrous size to tempt any fisherman or other creature in search of sport or food that had found their way to the lake. Not too many did, it was a place rumored to be of magic and giants. As with all things, there was always someone who didn’t know or didn’t listen to or didn’t believe the tales about the lake beyond the hills. The fish didn’t mind waiting, after centuries what was another day?  It was patient, the fish quite enjoyed fishing.

The beautiful day grew late, and the sun dropped beyond the hills towards the highway.  The lake grew dark again and the old tree and the fish watched and waited for a new day. A single tail feather from a large bird drifted slowly by the only sign of life on the surface of the dark and peaceful water.

It hadn’t been for the man or the grasshopper and probably the heron, but if you didn’t count them, it was a happily ever after sort of ending to a once upon a time sort of day.