A snail crossing the sand, koi under a waterfall, and mist sitting low on the hills.
Channel
CH 11
Frames
18
On air
30 March 2025
Camera
X-H2S
On the wet gravel path a snail is making its way across, shell an orange spiral, horns out. The ground around it glistens grey-green with recent water. Everything else is out of focus, a soft wash of stone. It is seven minutes to four. The snail is in no hurry; it has the whole afternoon and, by its standards, an enormous distance still to go.
Someone crouches at the edge of the wooden deck with a long-handled net, dipping it gently toward the water. Orange koi slide just under the surface, half hidden by drifting mist. Empty chairs wait under the trees behind. The deck shines wet. Whatever the net is after, a leaf or a bit of debris, the fish seem entirely unconcerned.
Koi have gathered now, five or six of them nose to tail in a loose cluster near the centre. A pale gold one swims apart, closer to the near edge, where water plants stick up through the surface. The ferns above make a bright green ceiling. Someone, somewhere, may have dropped food. The fish certainly seem to think so.
Further up, the weather has the upper hand. Low cloud lies along the valley like cotton wool laid out to dry, and the mountains behind it are only shadows. The treetops in front are green and wet. The sky is the same grey as the cloud, so the horizon simply dissolves. It is twenty-five to five and the light is going grey.
Outside, the waterfall is running full at half past four. Two white streams break over a wall of dark, mossy rock, step down a ledge each, and crash into the pool below. Ferns crowd every gap. The sound must be constant, a soft roar like a radio tuned between stations, covering every other noise in the garden.
