fimmtudagur, maí 18, 2006

sílungar

Trout fit very well in the hand. They do, at any rate, if they are not still alive, when they tend to thrash vigorously. Dead, they are still slippery but can be grasped firmly about the body just behind the head. The last two trout I regarded while holding them in this manner had markedly different facial expressions. It had not occurred to me that one might be able to distinguish two individuals of the same species and weight by face alone, but they were nonetheless quite distinct. One looked game and alert (as much as a dead fish can look game and alert). The other seemed slightly mournful or maybe merely philosophical.

After dinner, they looked the same: like cartoons of fish skeletons left on the stoop outside the kitchen door for cartoon cats.

1 ummæli:

Simon sagði...

The other seemed slightly mournful or maybe merely philosophical.

Ann, Ann!
Come! Quick as you can!
There's a fish that talks
In the frying-pan.
Out of the fat,
As clear as glass,
He put up his mouth
And moaned 'Alas!'
Oh, most mournful,
'Alas, alack!'
Then turned to his sizzling,
And sank him back.
-- Walter de la Mare

 
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