Season of Content
A city without a fountain is like a body without a pulse.
Gdansk has turned on its fountains. All winter, they were shut. The sound of them pulsing is punctuated by cries of delight as children divert the spray in water fights or take dares to jump in fully dressed.
In my family home back in Boston, one dining room wall had an oil painting of a fountain. My sister did it all in blues. Water pearled the naked body of a woman. She was at rest as our mother never was when the dining room table had both leaves and was set.
The turning on of a new fountain not long after the end of Communism in Poland was met with surprise. Bubbles, pink and shiny, floated up in the sky. Several boxes of laundry detergent poured into it overnight were the cause. Those responsible weren't teenagers but local fathers and neighbors of mine.
Gdansk has turned on its fountains. All winter, they were shut. The sound of them pulsing is punctuated by cries of delight as children divert the spray in water fights or take dares to jump in fully dressed.
In my family home back in Boston, one dining room wall had an oil painting of a fountain. My sister did it all in blues. Water pearled the naked body of a woman. She was at rest as our mother never was when the dining room table had both leaves and was set.
The turning on of a new fountain not long after the end of Communism in Poland was met with surprise. Bubbles, pink and shiny, floated up in the sky. Several boxes of laundry detergent poured into it overnight were the cause. Those responsible weren't teenagers but local fathers and neighbors of mine.
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