I remember you speaking of these attacks. At the time, knowing how you are prone to wonderful, spontaneous flights of fancy, I accepted your descriptions as I would a line from one of your poems. But now I know you were telling the truth.
Last week, walking by the Nepean River, I heard a terrible low moaning sound coming from near a stand of willows on the far bank. It was dreadful, like a beast being slaughtered. A family of water hens were paddling close to shore when a giant red fish came clear of the water and engulfed them. It thrashed on the surface, shaking its head this way and that. Pieces of water hen were flying in all directions, and the water was turning a dark red. I thought: no amount of bird blood could stain a river like that. It was a much deeper red than the flames from when they destroyed my paintings in America!
I have been driven to paint the scene. Please visit soon. We need to talk.