Unwinding beside the pond, I spent my lunch hour watching greedy fish attempt to devour the discarded remains of a hot-pressed panino. A study in failure since they were unable to swallow a single mouthful of the waterlogged crust, despite taking turns to attack it from diverse angles.
I felt some degree of empathy for the defeated fish as I, too, had experienced a morning of futile endeavor. Bottom-feeders such as us are repeatedly lured to the surface by tantalizing prizes we are ultimately denied for one reason or another.
Eventually the fish abandoned the delectable but inedible hunk of bread, disappearing with a flash of silvery indignation into the murky depths where they could eye-up less appetizing but bite-size grubs and algae no bigger than their bellies. But I had to return to my office and continue hunting non-existent truffles, out-of-season, in a barren field with the wrong sort of dog. Which is what work feels like much of the time.
As I recall, Jesus did not suggest we pay heed to the fish in his speech about considering the lilies and the sparrows. How very wise of him. After all, fish are often being caught and eaten in the New Testament, therefore not setting a particularly good example for humankind.
Indeed. For all my envy of their abrupt vanishing act, they were stunted fish doomed to circumnavigate the same changeless, negligible expanse of stagnant water day after day, Whereas, at five in the afternoon I could at least emerge from my pond for an evening's respite from daly failure and ennui, however brief.
Although we are both bottom feeders, the fish and I, thankfully their bottom is much lower than mine. Hooray for evolution, the formation of legs, and the ability to breathe on land. Feeling much better after these thoughts, I finished munching on my sardine sandwich and slowly strolled back to the office.
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