Sunday, 4 September 2016

insert phrase about the irony of something that catches fish getting caught in a net

Prismatic beauty. Light scatters across spangled crown and flows down into an azure blaze that, upon turning, cools to a mint spray. In shadow it darkens like the deepest ocean, Prussian Blue. Intoxicating. Captured and yet captivating, an ornament of the river, as sharp as its call, as still as the fry-pools. Little Prince of Fishers on a Halcyon morning.

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