Serenity and grace in the days of spring

My fish are feeding again, and that is a certain sign of spring in my world. After having lain dormant somewhere in the nether realms of the pond during the winter, they are now eating like there is no tomorrow. I began throwing them food on Sunday, and by today they are awaiting my morning arrival with avid anticipation.

I don't have so many fish, just two koi and three goldfish (my pond isn't terribly large), but I am delighted that all survived the winter and seem happy and healthy. Actually, I don't know if they're happy since fish aren't given to smiles, but I am assuming they are if they have good appetites.

I have had outdoor fish at three separate residences over the years, and I don't think I would ever be without them. They demand little and yet they give back more than you might think. What they primarily give is serenity. If I'm feeling stressed, even 10 minutes of piscatorial viewing makes negativity melt away. I can understand why the Japanese have always equated them to beauty and serenity. Sometimes I wonder what it is like for them being in captivity. Do they have fish dreams about broader expanses of water? I mean, my pond is virtually all they've ever known. It is their world, their universe, so I doubt if their wonderings extend beyond the pond's confines.

They do have enemies, of course, and keeping said vermin at bay demands vigilance. Raccoons love sushi, and more than once the pond has been ravaged by the furry bandits. Consequently, I now keep the pond screened overnight. Equally fond of a good feed of fish are the herons. Normally shy, they won't hesitate to assail a backyard pond. Once, at my former home, I heard a screech from the upstairs bedroom. I ran up to see what was happening. Since my ex was given to voluble histrionics at many things I thought it was probably nothing much. She, sputtering, pointed to the window. I looked out and there was a heron standing ankle-deep (do herons have ankles?) in the pond, contentedly plucking koi from the waters. I ran downstairs and out to the deck (below which the pond sat) waving my arms and exhorting the otherwise magnificent bird to depart immediately. He looked up, then ignored me and went back to his task. It was only when I got close enough to touch him that he gave up on his quest. We put a screen on that afternoon.

But, predators notwithstanding, my fish are back for the season and now I can truly welcome spring.