Wednesday, October 26, 2005

Conversations (The Fountain)

Outside the courthouse is a fountain I pass daily. It's not so much a fountain as three descending pools of the clearest water you've ever seen. The water pours from the top pool, over the slate to the next pool, and into the third where it's pulled under to be recycled again and again.

pool, pool, pool, pull...

Every day I pass this fountain, and every day I long to fall into it. I ache to fall into it. I don't mean that I want to dive in, or step in with one foot; I want to fall into it, slow motion... a graceful, weightless liquid...each drop of purity covering my arms, my back, my hands, my face, until I'm buried underneath the quiet, gentle flow.

pool, pool, pool, pull...

"So, you want to jump in the fountain?" says the Voice.
"no..." says i, "'re not hearing me."
"I heard you. You want to jump into the fountain" insists The Voice.

I do not want to fall into this fountain. I want to live in a world where a woman in a business suit outside of a courthouse can hike up her skirt and sink into a public fountain without anyone thinking it odd. I want to return to my desk and drip dry while I go about my work. I want my co-workers to blink nary an eye as puddles of purity fall to the floor in a pool beneath my feet.

pool, pool, pool, pull...

"That's craziness!" says The Voice.
"now you're hearing me." says i.