|Signage for Mary Lucking's Amur Serenade on the Marshall Way Bridge|
You could have your reasons for singing to fish.
|The machine for singing to the amur catfish|
Perhaps you want to sing them the song of the time you walked on thick ice on their namesake river, and slid down slopes constructed of it, in biting cold and stinging joy. And of the following night, blocks of it carved and built into castles, figures, fortresses, impossible frozen tableau filled with sparkling light, the festival of the ice lanterns held logically on the coldest night in the coldest place next to the Amur River.
Or of the bike ride you found this machine for singing to fish on. Or of the reasons you haven't been blogging much lately, but would if you could. Or of their canal food: do they truly eat the weeds, and if so, do they enjoy that? You ask if there's a song in that and I say that the question answers itself. Sure no song in the slime of their fins? Except that to a fish, a song of the slime of their fins is surely of interest, and if you are singing to fish, well, weeds, or slime, may be suitable subjects.
Something imaginative: Chansons d'amur perhaps?
Something appropriate to the dark swirling waters: Sing me to sleep, I don't want to wake up on my own anymore....
|Close-up of machine for singing to fish|
Sing to the fish at night. During the day, one may picnic with the fish, do yoga with the fish, or create arts and crafts, but singing to the fish, during the dark hours only, please. Reasons? You could have your reasons. Don't ask me. I have mine. You could hear it in my low quivering voice hovering over the dark waters, a cyclist bent over the fish singing machine in the wee hours when all are asleep, including the slimy finned ones, but I shall wake them with my sonorous, compelling melodies. For none may resist the power of the amur serenade. They do dart, and dive, and swim in dreamy swirls, as the notes pour down, down, around and under the bridge.
You could have your reasons for singing to the fish, in the middle of the night, while riding your bicycle along a quiet canal, in the warmest, darkest place, this desert night. Don't ask me. I have mine.
and she makes other things of beauty, like ped/bike bridges, and a Tree Grows in Scottsdale...