The salmon and the fly

Sun (1 of 1)

Sparkling summer evenings are precious. Golden shafts of sunlight carving their lines through gaps in the houses, leaf canopies, across slow waters. We sat on a rock. Stopped talking and listened. The Taff trail was 30 feet behind us, the M4 three quarters of a mile away. We were seeking the quieter, wilder, hidden side of urbanity. The waters broke and a huge salmon lept, snatching a startled fly. It  disappeared. Evelyn’s head spun toward me, eyes like saucers, mouth prescribing a giant ‘O’. We sat for a further 10 minutes. Two pairs of grey wagtails hopped from rock to rock. An occasional pigeon glided from one tree to another. The Salmon, its appetite satied, was gone.

Rock view (1 of 1)

Sunday. Dad and daughter, evening ‘adventuring’. Bouncing down a set of steps, tyres parting the overgrown path on the wild meadow, bramble cuts, one big skid, one giant salmon, many, many reasons for catching the last of the setting sun.  

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