There was a fish in the sky, the sun glinted on its iridescent undersides. Whipped by the breeze it coasted a while on the thermals. We stood in the garden, necks craned, watching it swim through the clouds.
“It’s going down” Sue shouted as we ran to the front of the house.
It sank fast and caught in a neighbour’s oak tree. It was actually a metallic balloon which promptly burst on a conker spine then crinkled in the breeze. A tag dangled from its tail with an address in France: a competition to see whose balloon travelled the furthest.