I’m standing on the east gate of the larger lock. The salmon are running, they’re hurling themselves in to the air and slapping back down against the dark green water. The sun is behind the rail bridge, it’s early evening. Every time a salmon hurls its silver body out of the water my heart leaps.

A very fit gray haired gent in shorts and a red polo shirt strides across the gate behind me, then stops.

“They’re going home.” he says.

“They seem very excited about it.”

“I wonder if they know what’s waiting for them at the end of their journey.” He pauses for a minute. “The same thing that waits for me, I guess,” he says, and smiles big. I laugh at his insight. He waves, and continues striding across the gate towards his known future.