The fountain after winter

An original description of an invented town square.

All winter, the fountain had stood in the centre of the square like a great grey dish. Wind had pushed leaves into its corners, where they formed dark, flattened layers. Without water, every scratch was visible: chalk marks around a loose tile, pale strips where cracks had been repaired, and a rust-coloured stain beneath the tallest pipe.

On the first morning of spring, a worker opened a metal panel beside the basin and reached inside. There was a click, followed by a shudder under our feet. For several seconds, nothing else happened. Then the central pipe coughed out a short rope of brownish water, stopped and tried again.

The smaller jets began one by one. The first produced a thin, leaning stream. The next sent water straight upwards before it broke into bright drops. Soon the basin was crowded with movement. Ripples crossed the chalk marks; reflections trembled over the repaired cracks. The dry stone darkened until its separate patches became difficult to distinguish.

People slowed as they passed. A child held both hands above the low rail, waiting for the spray to reach them. Even the worker stepped back, although he continued to watch the central jet. It rose higher now, almost matching the others, but every few moments it lost height and gave another rough cough.

From the far side of the square, the fountain looked restored. Close to it, the uneven rhythm could still be heard beneath the splash of the water.