Summer:
Oddly cleansing in the heat haze, gritty pondwater seeps into my gloves and down my sleeves. With each tug another tangle of blanketweed rises from the tannin depths, the resulting glade graced by the odd leopard-skin “thankyou” of a smooth newt.
Deposited on the rocky bank, I comb each net carefully, picking the armored freshwater clams and ramshorns. The air hung with the nostalgic aroma of pondwater. A stuttering, vibrant creature eyeballs me. “Grey” wagtail always seems cruel, their lantern yellow bellies rival anything in the tropics. No-one knows why they wag their tails though. Perhaps a foraging technique? Absent during cold times, they embark on jerky feeding forays here in summer.