Crossing the Wye Bridge in Monmouth yesterday, I glanced at the shallows below the bridge and noticed a shoal of about fifty trout, though I’m sure a fish-nerd woud correct me as to the species.
Among the smaller fish, swaying gently in the pellucid* water was a large salmon. Seeing it invoked small-boyish excitement in me and I wanted to rush to tell someone.
*I remember this word from a poem I read at school and have been looking for a non-pretentious context in which to use it for nearly thirty years. This isn’t that context but I have used it anyway. So there.