I walked down to the river
In the glinting low light
And it shimmered and slipped
Silk like over its bed of rocks.
The sunlight spun into threads
By the long wet fingers of the river
Woven into loose lace nets
And spread across the stones
It’s been so dry in this part of Scotland over the spring and summer that the rivers have all been running very low. Reduced to silvery trickles over the smooth stones of the river beds. The salmon and trout returning to run up river to the spawning pools have been stuck in the estuaries, biding their time. Now that the rain has come, the rivers have swollen, and the fish are running in waves up the waterfalls and weirs. We watched as fish after fish threw themselves up out of the water, leaping again and again, falling back onto the rocks exhausted. Herons had gathered like vultures looking for an easy meal. It’s an amazing spectacle, and of course I didn’t catch a shot of my best sighting. A huge pink and copper male leaped right out of the river, standing on his own tail, nose skywards a few yards from the bank. He seemed to stand still, his black eye full of tales of the deep ocean, he looked right through me before falling back with a dramatic silver splash. To keep trying seems to be the lesson of the salmon. To persevere despite the highest obstacles.