Summer
 

In the summer our fish pond is magical, small ripples recoil while six hungry fish dart past the jagged rocks blanketed on the edges of the floor. Nine pristine tiles lay tight in the centre scattered with glittering paua shells emitting a blue rainbow only to ricochet from the firm rim. Sitting on the old rickety bench I look beyond the center stone into the second circle of our pond, two aged liles waver from their bush near the freshly cut stretch of grass. They sit on the transparent water only enough to collect delicate droplets on their milky petals. I listen to the sounds resonating in the garden, steady scare ripples making a delicate swish mixed with the quiet hush of the summer breeze through the minute grass where crickets chirp happily. Many days I come here and get so lost in the magic that I forget the reason I am here, to feed my fish.

 

Winter
 

When winter arrives our enchanted fish pond leaves. Coils of various algae hug the cold floor housing the jagged rocks. The water is murky and thick but not enough to hide the tarnished tiles that were once glistening in the sun, nobody dares to clean the pond in the winter it is far too cold. Despite the icy temperature six courageous fish skim through the blurred water eluding any obstacle in their way in search for food. The quiet hush of the breeze is replaced with sharp howls of the wind grabbing flourishing flowers along. I try endlessly not to breathe in the foul smell of the grimy pond, but I know I have failed when the smell of stale food hits my nose like hammer on a nail. Before I feel sick I haphazardly scatter flakes of fish food and dash for warmth.

 

Tanya Kohli