I've invented my own bit of folklore: if you see a fish, that means it's going to be a good day.
It's clever because it's a self-fulfilling prophecy, yeah? If I'm looking at a fish, it means I've torn myself away from the sofa - I'm outside, I've left the house, I'm not sitting at home like some weird troglodyte. And, in the case of a Roath Park fish, I probably did exercise to get there.
That's got to be good. Or at least better.
(There's also a sub-clause, in that if I look for them at a place where they usually are and DON'T see any, I can claim that anyway, because where else are they going to be? They haven't just nipped to Sainsburys or gone to play football, have they?)
Anyway today I saw a fish. Yay!
Fish? Fishes? Fish. I got to the park early, these ones were hanging out at optimum fish-viewing spot no.2; my fate was sealed.
The little egret was up at the lake - long time no see, fella:
As was Terry, who only comes out on sunny days:
A crested grebe was also swanning (...grebing?) about, looking ravishing:
And, er, there was this guy:
I ate an al fresco lunch at the cafe, then spent a while being mesmerised by bees:
Thus fortified, I dropped off two big bags of Stuff to the charity shop then rearranged the van to make room for the potentially-for-sale books.
They're under the bed in there now, and not on the floor in here, which is definitely good.
The fish work their magic every time.
Today's Photo: The Geometry of Ducks
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