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mpossible to catch。 Only in the evenings； as the air cooled and the water darkened； and the surface was broken with the silver dances of the rising shoals； would you perhaps get a bite or two； a baby perch sucking at the worm； a roach no bigger than a sardine。 All the time； on bright hot mornings especially； great pike would lie out in the middle of the lake in shoals of ten or even twenty； like black torpedoes； transfixed； never moving except in sudden immense rises that rocked the water…surface with rings。
It is curious； but all the life on and about water seems to belong to water。 Except for a solitary wren fidgeting delicately about the banks under the alder trees； or a robin singing in the October afternoon across the water from the islands； all the bird…life is that of water… birds。 Rooks never seem to e here； nor starlings； an occasional pigeon flaps across to the woods； even the sea…gulls belong to the ploughed land。 But wild swans e back to nest in the piles of fawn…colored reeds in the spring； and two great herons stalk the water…meadows every day； struggling ponderously upwards at the sound of voices。 Snipe whirl away across the tussocks of brown…quelled sedge on the adjacent marshland； and a solitary kingfisher breaks with magic electric streaks the dark enclosures under the alders that span the narrowest water。 But something； and for long periods； there is no life and no sound at all。 The water is slowly stilled after the last fish have broken it； the coot are silent； the leaves cease their shaking and falling in the dead October air。 The crimson float es to rest on water that seems to have on it a skin of oil。
On such still clear days the color is wonderful。 From the south bank of the water poplar and alder and ash and horse…chestnut let fall
