A boy on a bus, the clear plastic bag clutched tightly in his right hand. The fish wriggles but it’s watery cage holds fast. Close by the child’s beloved grandfather stands.

On reaching home the fish is transferred into the brightly lit aquarium, to be lost among others of it’s kind.

“What do fish think?” The child wonders as silent creatures glide through water heated to just the correct temperature. “Are you happy?” he ponders, his nose inches from the glass.

(As a child my grandfather built an aquarium. Being visually impaired I am unable to read print or determine details. I can, however see bright colours and I derived great pleasure from watching the fish in their watery home).