THE END.

Of course, one ending begets another beginning.

Funny old universe!

You are a trout. Once upon a time, far far away, there was some substance called peanut butter and someone special called Nigella, but now you have your left eye set on that yummy grub wriggling in the eddy behind a river pebble. There's a moon-looking shiney thing high up there in the rippling blue sky.

Your right eye spots legs in rubber waders. Forming instant and righteous dislike for the legs in rubber waders, you glide toward them on the swift current -- for you intend  to engage them in serious combat. You slap the legs with your powerful tail.

Exclaiming, in Welsh, the legs rock alarmingly. The top much-bigger part you only notice now follows the legs -- all the ungainly assembly splashing into your river. Briefly you taste iron -- whatever that red stuff is on the water. The big ungainly thing you dislike so drifts on the current, into a quiet eddy under a weeping willow, where it seems only right it will feed the river for a while.

Contentedly gliding, like a fishy kite, riding the currents, resting behind slimey green stones, and gulping yummy grubs teeming in your river -- during that tricky red day-end light two giant hands grab you from your fishy existence.

There's a shocking moment -- suddenly there are three of you -- but your shock quickly passes.

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