Fountains of Truth

A thought came to me walking in the mall yesterday. Polish malls are, to put you in the picture, places you walk to in cities. They have libraries in them, art exhibits, cafes and good sources of fresh fruit and vegetables, besides meat, for my cooking. So, I'm sitting by a fountain in the mall - this time of year, the ones in parks go off, silent before winter descends with all its force - and the water with its steady pulse made me think. Strength is not a well that never goes dry. It is a cup that might need refilling.

When I left, I was revived. If poetry is pain distilled, prose is a meal with many courses.

Time to cook and write.