The Fountain
Hey, do you remember on a timeless hot and dusty sunny day when Chas, a giant spanner in his hand, strutted with his self-assured and quiet confidence towards a round unnoticed metal cover in the middle of the street? Almost disdainfully he lifted it aside, and with such massive heaves and twists unscrewed some huge and hidden secret tap, and then stood back to watch with pride as glorious summer's lazy hazy nothingness was split and splintered by a fountain eight foot high - a swirling spinning ice-cold clear cascade - and children suddenly appeared from all around and played as children do with laughs and cries of wild delight and squeals of unexpected glee; a miracle that seemed quite natural and, as is the way, a miracle which only happened once.
- Weed (July 1996)
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