Now this is more like August in St. Louis! It’s seven am and all over the park sweaty cyclists and dripping joggers are doin’ their exercise thing, quick, before the day gets really fiery. Me, I’m concentrating on catchin’ it all on the silicon (not to be confused with silicone, which isn’t normally found in Forest Park) and taking it all in. People are everywhere in the morning (after all, only mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the noonday sun), walking, running, cycling and saying “Oops, sorry!” when they run in front of my camera (which is exactly what I’m waiting for them to do).

Crunch, crunch, crunch go the feet of the joggers on the gravel of the walking path. With a whir and a muttered imprecation a cyclist flashes past. The noisy birds chirp, cheep and cry from hidden spots and a great blue heron, miffed that I have disturbed his breakfast, flies off with croaks of indignation.

Across the pond from me, something white bobs in the water and I move closer to investigate. It’s a dead catfish (I reckon he’s dead - floating upside down is usually an indicator). So, how does a dead fish manage to move like that? A closer look reveals the answer. Several not dead catfish (I like them dead and batter fried, myself) are feasting on their cousin, who is looking rather tattered and torn. Gross. I’ve got pictures.