A Christmas Waiting Story: the Goldfish’s tale.

I am a goldfish and we get a very bad press. There are those who accuse us having very short memories; there are those who accuse us of… Well, I forget what it is they accuse us of but it’s not especially complimentary.

But what those fish forget in their accusations about our suspect collective memory is that we have compensations which can only be described in the written word because were we to rely on our oral story telling skills we would fail miserably because… Well, we would just because. I forget why.

These compensations I refer to: they sometimes beggar the imagination. They take all shapes and sizes; they surprise, shock and entertain in equal measure.

Today for example I was swimming around and around looking for something that was hugely important at the time when quite by chance, out of the blue and completely unexpectedly I saw myself, staring at myself, mouth slightly agape.

This was a revelatory moment as I don’t remember ever having had that experience before. Had I ever seen myself before? What was it that had brought about this moment of enlightenment? What did it all mean?

‘No’; ‘no idea’ and ‘not a clue’ were the only answers I could summon up and it seemed I would be destined to wait a long, long time before I would be able to figure it all out.

I do recollect though that the vision of loveliness that faced me quite took me aback. I hadn’t realised quite how lovely a colour orange could be. I hadn’t appreciated how gossamer thin my magnificent tail was. I was astounded to see me floating effortlessly: bobbing slightly yes, but still maintaining a steady float. How did I do that I mused?

For a few moments I was one happy goldfish, although it wasn’t too long before that feeling passed and I settled back into a vague sense of dissatisfaction with my lot in life. Quite why, I don’t know. I don’t even know if I knew at some point but then forgot. Perhaps that was the root of my disappointment with myself.

I firmly resolved to address this seeping unease as soon as I could and certainly before I next encountered myself and my awesome loveliness.

And then… Now, where was I?

1 thought on “A Christmas Waiting Story: the Goldfish’s tale.

  1. Pingback: A Christmas Waiting Story: the ant’s trail. | drnickombe

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