The Fountainwood

Between classes today, we sat on a bench just off a sidewalk pulsing with students, teachers, businessmen, workers from nearby fast food joints, and just watched and listened to this big stone fountain crackle its effort to convince us the foliage was really a remote wood and suddenly we were listening to top forty music from the convenience store across the street or city or ocean or galaxy and having our hair brushed by the wind, twisted by the trees to sound like buses and motorcycles and screaming brakes and briefcase wheels tumbling over bricks and the breeze carried smells like hamburgers and Chinese food and sometimes another explorer would walk by the fallen tree we were sitting on, but they didn’t have the sidewalk world with them, it was gone oh and there was a bird inspecting the bushes and we tried to take a picture, but he wouldn’t show up on the camera’s screen though the trees around him did – we tried four different shots then decided he was from the fountain’s world and we left him and the serene, mysterious, green, watery, tinkling wood to let the sidewalk’s pulse carry us to class.

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